Jingle jangle

Hey-o folks. It’s J time here at the A-to-Z and this little jewel of a topic comes from a very fine man, a bit of a jokester, a joyful and jovial Jamaican-dreadlocked white dude; a very fine judge of music and talent and a wicked musician himself; the Jazz Lion. And the deal is:

Jamming

Now I’m not a musician. I dick around on the guitar and keyboard. I’ve written a dozen songs at least. Maybe closer to twenty. They’re pretty basic usually. I’m not a performer. I’m certainly no singer. I’m good with the lyrics though.

Jamming is not really an option for me. I have zero ability to play by ear.

There were two happy occasions though. Once at the farm that Jazz Lion rented for a while; a kind of informal drop-in centre for youth like himself. He was deeply connected. Dullards my age would have called his crowd hipsters. They would not have. They were wonderful kids and too good for labels.

We brought together a fine meal one night. I had much wine and they had their own sacrament.

Lion monkeyed with his guitar tuning; got some rich India vibes happening. We played whistling water bowls and the like. It was very ethereal and atmospheric. I went for the simplest thing available: a length of chains.

I rattled them at patient intervals; only when the improvisation begged for them. The master approved. It was clear on his face.

Fine times.

There was one other, but I’ll save it for later.

How doth the city sit solitary…

…that was once full of people.

I remember many occasions sitting in my Streetsville apartment looking out the big window, contemplating at great length and seeing all these structures and machinations of society: I had never felt so alone; so utterly alien. At the time I regarded this with some degree of emotional peril; not as much as you’d expect, but more than I later would. My yawning separateness was to some degree just another observation; another new important revelation in a long roster of them. It was then that I found some comfort in that opening line from the book of Leviticus and then that I began reading the Christian bible for the first time since grade school, and then that I began finding wisdom instead of nonsense; wisdom which few priests would, so far as I imagined, ever interpret much the same way I was. It was then that I began to sense that much of this “religious” material must have been borrowed from other sources and that much of it was not intended at its roots to be a tool of Christian doctrine at all.

That alien feeling persisted for a long time, varying in intensity.

I remember a long night wide awake in my attic eyrie which I rented from Long Time Companion; the friend formerly known in blog space as Peter Pan. I’m pleased to say that he has come a long way, finding some peace, and considering that when we were breaking up years prior to this rental arrangement and I’d threatened to murder him (and possibly meant it) in a fit of outrageous jealousy - I guess I’ve come a long way too.

That night I’d felt the weight of this threshold; this decision; this gateway to… what? Enlightenment? This reckoning that I’d found no one yet who was willing to take my hand and proceed with me.

It was that night when I strummed the guitar and the song The Line came out: a simple three-chord ditty in which I tried to voice this conundrum; this great step in evolution (or so it seemed to me then) and my concern that I was becoming too alien from everyone around me and that I was losing the capacity to relate and thus to communicate and thus the potential to teach or to guide.

I did not want my learning; these immensely powerful and useful understandings to benefit me alone!

What I don’t remember is any conscious decision; any intention to back away from that threshold, but indeed that is what I did; not ready to give up on others; and not feeling any confidence that I’d ever be able to reach anyone again if I took this step and launched too far into another realm.

I remember being surprised to so easily embrace a reverse-pretentiousness, how easy it was for me to “play dumb” in a way, to reveal no insights in day to day circumstances where I was wise in relevant terms but wise enough, also, to know that what I had to say would not be understood or not be embraced and so I remained quiet and nodded like some very simple man. I was surprised how easily I could keep my ego in check.

I remember feeling lonely at times because I had no one I could be completely myself with. I literally had no secrets. This is a huge statement to make. I doubt it can rarely ever be honestly said. I had no secrets but yet I had to keep quiet about some things, not for shame (I could admit any flaw or fault I was aware of) but for other people’s comfort. I had no energy or any mandate to challenge everyone’s illusions all day every day.

When I met Neo and observed what astounding mental freedoms he possessed, I knew he was very special and that I had to make myself available to him. And with the brainstorming of excellent associate JazzLion, I began writing a novel in which I tried to plant all my most important and relevant understandings, with the thought that if he read it (along with others if it got published) and was of the kind of mind I had been crediting him with, then as an adult he might unearth that book and look me up. I did not indulge in any romantic notions about such an encounter but in essence I could imagine him saying, “Dude! Remember me? I understand what you’re saying here! And I thought we should talk I don’t imagine you’ve been expecting many people to get it…”

Instead Neo took such an immediate interest in me that we became associates when grade school graduation should have otherwise separated us.

In hindsight, maybe that was all for the worse. Another regret? Should I have finished the damn book instead, and put it in his hands and said goodbye?

One of the joys in our association; call it friendship; call it mentorship, whatever, was that I had someone I could be one hundred per cent myself with. I regarded him as completely trustworthy. Not trustworthy in that I could trust him with my secrets (because I felt I had none) but trustworthy in that I trusted him to be able to handle the truth; to be able to handle the things I had to say.

For the first time in quite a while I had someone I did not feel alien with.

This is the crux of my broken-heartedness.

Imagine being a human but growing up on some far away planet where everyone is wildly different than you and finally you meet another human; the only other human on the planet, and you just feel so at home finally, and your friendship blossoms and then after eight years he just says, yeah I can’t do this anymore bye. 

Sometimes these days I think surely we’ll get back together again. Surely he’ll come to his senses.

But sitting here, trying to be a little present; a little wakeful, I think: How carefully have I monitored this alien issue over the last eight years?

Am I sure that no one else is capable of letting me be me, without me having to be concerned about scaring them off?

I know that the Ponderer and Skeeter Willis are frequent readers of this blog (god knows why; it is so scattered and indulgent) and I must ask with honesty; not to flatter, are they not willing and capable?

I wonder too, about Dog Whisperer and Earth Writer and Aqua Lad. I barely knew them eight years ago. Have we not developed an almost familial bond?

On that note what about my mother and my brother?

Surely JazzLion and Renaissance Kid and Global Citizen; though they live rather out of the way to varying degrees, so to rely on them regularly would be difficult.

And the Earnest Chef too. And The Healer. Thinking about them now, are they not slam dunks? Have I not already felt free with them and just not done the accounting?

Perhaps even the Thoughtful Educator. Haven’t all these relationships broadened and solidified over these years? Have I failed to give some special people fair credit?

And then there’s Dr. Lock of course. I’m surprised as I think about this now - how many friends I am able to consider in this regard

Perhaps I need to sample the waters; open up to more people the same way I did to Neo and see how it goes; if they are comfortable or not.

It would help, I’m sure, if I could be my gentler self with them. Which would happen naturally I’m sure if I could bring myself to be more present; more mindful. I might not be ready though. Let me cradle myself in the writing for now.

With regards to that evolution, I suppose this is another regret: When Neo asked, But why wouldn’t you want to embrace enlightenment if you could? Why ever choose otherwise? For some reason I gave him a cryptic answer that was more about my remaining addictions; my susceptibility to identity, instead of a straight answer. God knows why. It just happened.

I should have told Neo the more simple and sincere perspective: that I was waiting until he was ready to go there with me.

acre /ˈākər/

The Jazz Lion and I hit it off spectacularly the first time we ever got together outside of the college where he was about to graduate from a fairly prestigious music program which he seemed not to have much regard for other than the networking it availed him, and his relationship with music professors.

He pitched his knives at me and then – sorry. He performed his kitchen knife sales pitch – for me and then out of seemingly nowhere we suddenly discovered our rare connection; how we both had been experiencing incredible joy of late; in total awe of the planet, of life and humanity. We were both at the same peak stage of an evolution. We shared parallel attitudes and understandings; his stemming from musical discipline, deep contemplation, psychedelic exposure and tremendous restless energy for new pursuits. Mine from the discipline of writing and truth-seeking, deep contemplation, poetic escape and total avoidance of anything requiring energy!

With his girlfriend, they acquired a ten-acre farm and plotted a music festival fundraising – slash – charitable food-harvesting enterprise and invited me to move in and participate. In hindsight I should have been braver. I should have taken part and strengthened the endeavor in whatever ways I could, but I took the safe inert route instead and declined. They did launch one event and then new interests slipped into their lives and they have since moved out and split up. I think she went looking for a mediocre reliable father type man instead of a potentially brilliant father, making the same tragic mistake which most of us constantly make: we regard liability over opportunity. As such, a world which desperately requires change does not change. And so we are all collectively slip-sliding away.

More and more I am realizing there are realities of energy flow which science has not yet explained but I think undoubtedly will so, gradually. I have dropped my guard and admitted to witnessing evidence of Reiki validity. The Healer has channeled insights through it, which I have validated. She has also released me from back pain just by waving her hands at me!

I have felt natural environments strengthen and revitalize me.

There was no material reason whatsoever for this one music student of many to ask this one security guard of many, “Hey, you want to get together some time? Maybe I could practice my knife selling pitch!”

“Yeah. Sure! But I don’t buy knives. Not ever. No chance.”

“Perfect! Let’s do it!”

No reason. Yet we were unerringly drawn together. Energy... Crazy, I know.

This may be the most important thing I ever say, in my whole life:

So I get an email from the JazzLion, dropping his phone number, asking me to call. His words are brief but intimate. I take notice.

I last saw him in December 2014, right before he split to BC for a series of adventures which attempted to bridge the natural world which he tries to hang on to, and the sleazy commercial world we humans have insisted on letting dominate ourselves. Early reports were promising. I began to think he would not be returning. Apparently so did he, at least for a while. I telephoned.

In his words, he hit rock bottom in Calgary, knocked out of employment by the third boss in a row to con him with false promises, at least according to his perception. With no home or money and a head full of destructive thoughts, aimed at himself and others, he called on Mom for a loan for a coach ticket back to Ontario where his greater support system lies.

His considerable intelligence never seems to match up to his emotions. His goals never seem to match up to both his perceived purpose and circumstances simultaneously. The gifts he offers never seem to match up to the wants of his neighbors.

We seem to meet up on a little better than annual basis. He will spend the next few days on a bus and then we’ll get together. I know he is feeling lost and hurting and questioning his purpose in life. I know where I want to start in terms of trying to help him find his way toward life pursuits that might work for him, and I shall write it here and now, for his benefit (review) and mine (reminder) and hopefully others (something to think about):

Purpose

If you want to get at the truth of anything you have to start by identifying the appropriate context which is always the largest relevant context. In this case, the universe.

The universe is mind-bogglingly huge and relatively empty of life; to what degree we are not sure, but we can be almost certain of one thing: There is no species in existence in the universe quite like us. That is a logical near-certainty. Because in order to be wrong about that, the other humanoids would have had to come into existence at right about the same time we did, so close to the same time that this would represent a wildly unlikely coincidence when mapped on the scale of the universe’s immense duration. We can observe enough of the universe and of earth to know that life occurs in the universe in extremely unlikely circumstances and intelligent conscious life in staggeringly unlikely circumstances; a staggeringly rare event. But given the immensity of opportunities in the universe: trillions of trillions of trillions of worlds (we can predict); such unlikelihood may happen more than once. But given the humanoid passion (and rate) for exploration and expansion (no doubt a primary factor in what we’ve become; what we are), any similar humanoid species not of Minerva (or Earth as you might say) has to either have killed itself off by now (as we have proven to be fully capable of and are currently forecasted to do) or else has simply not yet evolved anywhere else in the universe. We know this is a mathematical near-certainty because otherwise we could not have avoided this race because to be anything like us and thus with a similar rate of expansion capacity, it would have flooded the universe by now. And we have not run into them.

So trusting we occupy a rare supervisory role in the universe, what does that mean for us?

It means that something brand spanking new is happening in the universe which is well beyond its previously normal scope: that of swirling matter snowballing according to gravity and densities and explosiveness with one or more isolated oases of death-life where cellular organization takes rapidly altering compositions as different forms rapidly consume the prior forms and are rapidly consumed in turn: evolution as we know it. The brand-spanking new thing is consciousness and it has the ability to utterly transform the nature of the universe but might tragically decline to. Consciousness is subject to evolution of an intentional form without need of countless generations and has proven to me, and (I interpret) to others, to be capable of very rapid evolution.

Consciousness enables a web of intelligence, love, empathy (much more love and empathy than most people even begin to realize), communication and cooperation; the kind of cooperation which can put a man on the moon, set its sites on Mars, and soon beyond, with startling growth of reach (technological advancement).

Consciousness, though infantile at this early stage, in the care of humankind, has the capacity to perhaps sadly disappear, or else evolve and flood the universe with harmony and benign intent instead of this cold physical circular causality with rare blips of death-life.

This is a drama of utterly epic proportions which affects the entire universe and makes all other dramas, especially the contrived human societal ones, completely irrelevant, as much as we pretend otherwise. And we are at the centre of it. We are the universe’s witnesses to this event, as well as in the starring role. And the thrilling thing is that we participate in that role at every moment, no matter what we do, and we are able to witness this drama at every waking moment (and arguably when dreaming, perhaps) if we choose to! Because everything we do, if you break down the components fine enough (not a lot of work in most cases) either propagates our normal beastliness or else propagates the evolution. Everything.

At every moment we can be slave to our instincts or else be mindful. (Speaking from a variety of established perspectives:) We can be spiritually asleep or spiritually awake. We can be animal or truly human; a grown child or a true adult. We can experience living death or be poetically alive, serve our internal devil or internal godliness. And every choice, every moment, is huge! Every one of our actions, in adherence with the laws of causality, are potentially eternal – or awfully damn close to eternal; eternal for all intents and purposes.

Eckhart Tolle, who has earned my immense trust, would tell JazzLion that being this witness is his internal purpose, with an outer purpose being his duty to design. I would add that choosing a side in this cosmic fork in the road, must form a basis for his purpose, whether you call it inner or outer.

Tolle says that some people who recognize the human purpose will involve this spiritual reality as a core component of their outer purpose. I know that that has to be true of me; that I must make it true, and given JazzLion’s capacity for intelligence and empathy and wakefulness, I would suggest the same of him.

Frankly, I would say this of quite a few of the special people I know. And I know that some of you read this blog. I really hope you are listening!

Love you.

Creme de carrot

I made a reference on my likebook page to “pop music pablum.” The only explanation I gave was: music “pared down and pureed to death.” I’m guessing that some will see it who aren’t quite sure what I’m getting at, and might even feel insulted.

I think I’m borrowing the term from Frank Zappa. I think he compared pop music to baby food because, within the great realm of musical possibility,  mainstream music purveyors stick to a very narrow field; songs that are structurally simple, repetitive and formulaic (baby formula?) and within a very limited selection of chord combinations and patterns. Obviously Zappa had a deep mind musically, which had the capacity to appreciate – not just theoretically but to really dig – unusual structures in music. He had an unusual maturity of mind in this regard.

Here’s an example in the extreme: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is an awesome kiddie song. It is so simple it is accessible to just about any baby brain. But we grow out of it because it is just too simple for most of us and thus gets very old very fast. I think that Zappa is suggesting that pop music has moved only inches beyond the Twinkle Twinkle Little Star level based on a scale of music maturity that many of us don’t “get.” And I don’t think he was trying to be elitist about it. I think he felt that if the pop music executives and intelligentsia would widen their repertoire, that the minds of the public would grow.

But major record labels and radio stations, like any corporation of course, embrace the world domination greed mentality. Keep everything as accessible as possible – in order to reach the widest market quickly and please the shareholders.

For some reason, as a kid, I got intrigued by the band, Rush, who’s music, at least that from most of their various incarnations over the last forty years, is not immediately accessible to the masses. But they’re very very good at their own game, and thus are popularly considered the world’s biggest cult band. Rush stretched my mind enough to appreciate their unique music and the reward has been incredible. Their music moves me immensely and never gets old. Their songs never go stale. The huge grassroots popularity of early album 2112, in spite of corporate and critical derision, won them a rare immunity from label interference. This was only possible because of rare courage. They obeyed their creative yearnings instead of the man with the chequebook (to their own demise, they assumed). But surprise: they got lucky. Or were just that good. Or both.

Neo has a deep Zappa-like mind. He especially, but also JazzLion, have pushed my brain even further, as I have opened up to neo-psychedelic and jazz music for examples. Again, I am slower to absorb this stuff but then its impact is much greater. People stuck strictly in the pop world perceive, I believe, that the songs of other genres are not “catchy” and don’t have the magic that keeps your foot obliviously tapping.

But they are. And they do. Just not immediately (for this novice anyway). You invest time getting to know the song and the investment is worth it. You get a lot more back. There is a timeless component to music appreciation. You’re not simply enjoying the precise sound component which last entered your ear, one component at a time. You like the stream you’re hearing, in part because of how it interacts with the stream that came before it, and in part with the stream you know – or predict – will follow. At least that’s how it seems to me. It’s slippery to talk about music appreciation considering it mostly goes on in the secret depths of the subconscious brain. Right? It’s not like we get to choose our ear-worms. Not with perfect authority anyway.

Pop songs become predictable half-way through the first listen. Hence wide, shallow appeal. Twinkle Twinkle Piles of Cash.

So that’s what I mean about pop music being pared down.

What I mean about it being pureed is how all the lumps are taken out. Every apparent blemish is removed from pop songs. Everything is metered and tuned to robotic precision. These days I hear the radio and usually all I hear is computers. Sometimes I half wonder if computers are actually concocting the songs. Not that computers shouldn’t be used as an honest musical tool.

I think it was Tom Petty, in a documentary, who said that music is not supposed to be perfect. Perfection takes the humanity out of it. It takes the experience out of it. And you will hear other pop musicians complain about the paring down if you can catch them at an unguarded moment. I think most of them would rather be more creative and making more experimental music if only agents and executives would let them.

So I don’t mean to insult pop musicians. I think they mostly get taken advantage of and regret where they end up, unless money and attention is their only bag, of course. And I don’t mean to insult radio listeners. I listen to pop songs too and I enjoy a good lot of it – in a simple easy way. But there is so much more to the world of music and it serves us well to ignore the pop scene as any kind of standard to aspire to. But by that, am I saying that American Idol is a steaming pile of poo?

Well, yes. 

Just don't ask me how many times I've watched the Susan Boyle moment on youtube... ;)

A good use of time

Jazz Lion visited Saturday night. We had Shawarma and Flying Monkeys and hung out in my room from six in the evening until four in the morning.

We looked at his menu of personal services: drum circles, vision quests, instrument therapy, vibroacoustic healing, brainwave entrainment, music production, live music, and lessons in music theory, performance, production and composition - to name just a few. I will do some 'marketing' writing for him in exchange for services.

He put together a binaural beats brainwave entrainment track for me to regularly absorb; subsonic pulse patterns to relegate my brainwaves for optimal blood pressure recovery. Sounds like voodoo but Harvard and M.I.T. are among those behind the research.

We talked about his getting roughed up and injured to the point of income loss (permanent, I wonder?) by the police and healthcare goons for his being polite but not quick enough to cooperate with psyche ward internment process for the authorities' liking, after they received a tip that he may be suicidal (he's not) because he texted his just-come-ex girlfriend "Whatever - see you in heaven." Apparently if you think someone is suicidal, you can best help them by beating them up so that they can't perform their livelihood. That's how they feel the love, apparently.

Watch out for the long arm of the law, folks. There's a fist at the end.

We talked about the Liberal Theologian's cancer. We talked about directional love versus all-emanating lovingness, and generous love versus selfish love. We talked about the illusory nature of anger and other emotions. We talked about truth and its non-applicability in our society. We talked about dreams, India, fatherhood, latent paternal instinct, the anatomy of relationships and the validity of different approaches to relationships. We talked about his music and mine and Neo's music and Senegal Astroturf's music. We talked about general phenomena of vibration and its effects on us. We talked about the psychedelic experience; especially DMT which he recommends for me personally. I'm hesitant, not being a smoker.

We talked about heartbreak, discipline, repetition, the cosmic perspective, alchemy and the desire to vanish from this society; something we're both acquainted with. We talked about much and ten hours dried up in a hurry.

When I had found out that Liberal Theologian was finally coming out of the hospital on Friday I offered to cancel Jazz's visit but she wouldn't have it. It's very unfortunate that she felt, last-minute, that she could not take part in the visit. Jazz, as I have told him, is a very important spirit in this world, and a very important voice in this world. I have no wish to keep him to myself.

As for L.T.: I'd like nothing more than to see her living life to the fullest; making the most of each day. Saturday night there was a marvelous opportunity for her that did not happen.

*Flying Monkeys is beer.

Now or never, once again.

A colourful sunshiny landscape constructed primarily of Smarties candies with vague cartoony characters leaping around and diving into colourful pools. A giant mouth - the one from the Scream mask, perhaps. moving forward through a dark tunnel, threatening to consume everything in its path. What else? That's all I can remember. I was sleep deprived today, as usual lately, and so I experienced many waking dreams which I call dreamettes. They're always lightning quick. Do other people get those? I presume you do. Though if you don't experience sleep deprivation then they probably don't register consciously.

I haven't slept well for a couple weeks due to illness, which struck about the same time I found out that the Liberal Theologian has not triumphantly defeated her cancer after all. Wave One took a beating from the chemo, surgery and radiation, but here's a surprise second wave and Wave Two is - What can I say? Wave Two will not take a beating. Docs will do what they can to slow it down. My friend and excellent housemate will suffer until the end. And I can't do a thing to stop it.

The nice thing about sleep deprivation is that the brain doesn't function very well so it's rather easy to mentally procrastinate. My brain doesn't want to deal with this business right now and so it doesn't. L.T. has been in the hospital the whole time and I can't visit for all the coughing so... no pressure to deal with it.

She could finally be home tomorrow. So I'll have to start dealing with it, which is good. There are a lot of people in my life right now that I need to be strong for. Like Dog Whisperer says. I have to look after myself first, if I'm gonna be useful to others. She's right of course. When the cabin depressurizes, it's your mask before your child's. I know that. And that means taking care of my health. And that's gonna be a lot of work.

I can't take any more holidays from life. Do I have what it takes to get this train back on the rails? I have serious doubts. I have a bad record.

One step at a time? I need a plan. And I need inspiration. Here's a good sign maybe: Neo, World Citizen, Jazz Lion and the Thoughtful Educator have all come out of the woodwork just lately, wanting to get together. Good timing guys. I had one date, scheduled two more and expect to see Neo some time soon. And Dog Whisperer was very generous with her time tonight. I've been receiving wise advice lately. And the poets speak to me too. Discipline, they say. Not my strong suit. But I'm blessed with the finest associates; these and others. My love for them is really the only thing that keeps me in the game. And if I ever start winning, it will be to their credit.
  

Day 1: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.

Biodad: I know what haunts you. But there are other ways to defeat your fears. The drinking days are over. Help is available. The choice is yours; to live or die.

Neo: I believe in you. Always.

Jerry: I'm sorry I hurt you - what - 25 years ago? Whether I was right about you or wrong, it never was my place to judge you.

Doctor Lock: Thank you for coaxing the music out of me. You have changed my life profoundly

Mateo Jordache: Get that beautiful #@*%">#@*%>!* album on the damn market before I lose my marbles. I want a copy NOW!

Skeeter: I have a good hunk of respect for you. Any time you want to talk about the dark stuff; I'm there.

Jeff L: I miss your amazing energy. We must get together. Been way too long.

Rockin' Roddie: Thank you for taking a chance on me. It was an amazing time for those six years. I learned a lot about the world and about myself.

Dave: Many compliments are useless to me but you gave me a very fine one indeed. It's good to know I can be an inspiration to friends because my friends certainly inspire me.

Tati: Miss you. I will find a day to come soon. But we should do more than tell stories. You must put me to work!