MonuMental

When I stand around an angel I can feel the beams reflecting

but the settled light suggests a word confessed has been infected.

If she sings as bright as Venus life expansions soothe the hurt in me,

and wings align in skies that raise the sacred birth of Mercury.

The waters run a little quicker. Cleaner. Clear as tears and dreams.

An ocean of angelic frost assembles over fields and streams.

But when she minds her bothers and facilitates emotion

there’s a fleeting feeling altered from a peace become commotion.

The astral inflections fade to distant riffs and rumbling.

Humble be the thundering conun-drumming in front of me.

Valleys sink with instant rifts while crumbling the knolls

and mighty seas disseminate, the mountains were atolls.

The tempest runs from dense to thin but wings are finally folded in.

A golden grin can end the swell, the zinfandels will grow again.

When I stand around an angel I can feel the inner struggle.

I can sense a  soul and know the beauty rooted deep with trouble.

A scarab with a center born of lightning strikes and Westerlies

cushioned in a heart of crystal, amethyst, and destinies.

I feel awash with senses brought to stratums never pioneered.

A moment of intense intrinsic listening from higher tiers.

I never feel fraternity like the solid strains that grab me

transferring exotic tapestries by synaptic veins of clarity.

The strangest love of all pronounced with tongues of seraph heritage

with equal parts of light and dark I see the cherub cherishes.

I’ll pity life within the sites where focal points align

but something other than my own existence fits within this guise.

After I’m around an angel vespers fade to wordless whispers.

I’m alone with knowledge known of silent tones I won’t remember.

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Back when I was half as young as I am now I had a friend who was a very talented musician, compulsive positive soul, and hilarious son-of-a-bitch. One of those people who just jumped in and started hanging out, the way you can only do when you’re 15, 16, and 17. He was a cool guy, had a girl, went to school, and kept his britches up. Honestly enough was life with him that years later I’m working out in the downtown YMCA and see him on the cover of Style Weekly. Old School Freight Train had formed itself from a few boys and one chanteuse who could saw horse hair as good as she could likely write.

“Good for them” I remember thinking.

Soon after I started seeing them play around town pretty often and saw an Old School Freight Train debut album in Plan 9’s Local section. A couple of friends were digging ’em too and so we had a number of good times driving up to an hour or so to see them at hippie venues, outdoor festivals, and random other settings.

It was a sunny morning in a Dutch town named Breda when I laid in bed and listened to their second album. To slow tones of the opening song “Runnnnnnnnnnn” are a heart warming parade of harmony to my heart still. The sounds later changed from the acoustic, new grass, celtic, jazz and soul covers, onto more developed sounds and instruments.

That was all around ’02 to ’06 more or less. Now there are 3 OSFT LP’s with an additional live gem of a various hits CD recorded from Ashland Coffee & Tea. Jesse spent the last few years playing more on solo ventures and explorative collaborations than with the original members. A few of which had come and gone at this point. In 2011 he still sees the gang but has launched a more independent identity and been interactive with his personal mailing list and social media pages. Last year I downloaded his first solo Jesse Harper And His Best Intentions album that was available early via download. Anyone who followed his links know that he only suggested you pay whatever you felt was appropriate.

That’s background up until two days ago.

I received an email from him this past July with “Help Me Make My Next Album” in the subject line. Kickstarter.com is a webpage that helps people raise funds for various purposes, so he was asking for donations that would allot him the opportunity to go to LA and record his next personal LP and had set up various packages and levels of contribution using its service. Everyone got a bear hug and a high-five, and depending on how much you put towards it, CD’s, downloads, tickets to shows, postcards, and even jam sessions. I think he probably sold a ton of people immediately somehow. His personality transferred through the communication clean as a whistle.

“From me to you:”

After having problems using the payment option where I can log on through my Amazon account and apply those settings to the kickstarter page Jesse and I ended up emailing and talking a refreshing number of time. It had been a while but he seemed identical to the man we used to call Guitar-zan back in the day. I hadn’t seen him in any real way for 5 or 6 years. Most of those years I missed 9 out of 10 shows just due to my work schedule but the touring schedule had become larger and larger. The second album was actually released on a label owned by David Grissman (a big deal) and they were playing coast to coast and knocking ’em out at some of the state’s largest music festivals.

They didn’t play here but every so often at that point.

Jesse’s email had reached and touched enough people to climb deep into the seat of success and the end was all but spoken for. He felt so good about it he opened up his home to everyone who contributed to the cause and made plans for a grand evening of high-fives and bear hugs.

I RSVP’ed.

It ended up being a grand old shindig born and bred from a two-way valve of generosity and gratitude. I met a friend of theirs on the porch who was bringing out cups to a little table on the front porch and then with perfect timing was greeted by Jesse’s wife Kate who peeked through the screen with a smile, stepped out with a “Hi! Are you WillyJac?”.

Funny.

That little ditty came from Jesse the first time we hung out way back when and stuck in an odd way over the years from people who knew both of us. He typically stuck to his guns on calling me that and mixed it up with WallyJac sometimes too.

She introduced and hugged and talked about how we’d probably met sometime before (Kate’s the same girl) and then as if on cue Jesse came out too. “Heyyyy”. Big hug and “What’s up WillyJAC”. They showed me around, I helped ’em set up and we all had a blast as we chipped and dipped through some of the most amazing Texas caviare and enchilada dip and washed it down with homemade margaritas. More specifically, his margarita is 100% fresh squeezed lime juice met by tequila and a jigger of Orange Patron.

Cinco de Mayo on Mars is probably only half this good.

Some of the people there were good friends, family, and a few were just big fans. The first ten or fifteen people who showed up I received a formal introduction to and realized quickly that one was just as open and talkative at the other. We all chatted around in different groups, inside and outside, and we all checked the laptop at varying intervals to see how high the funding had reached. It got “stuck” it seemed around $9,908 or so. Less than $100 from the goal. We all kind of knew it was gonna be taken care of. In between coming back to it we talked about Jesse’s music and how glad we were to see him supported by his listeners so he could continue on his chosen path as an acoustic creationist.

It was a high spirited group entirely.

Jesse had a funny sign reiterating his thanks, and suggesting we use the laptop freely to spread the word during the final hours of the project. He had a big parchment covering the desk that said “We are all part of One True Thing”, a heart, and markers to leave your signature and/or a message.

Mingling around gave Jesse chances to chat with other people as much as it gave other people a chance to say Hey to him.

When we’re young, guys bond a lot of the time of jokes and comedy and humor and riotousness, and I had always thought Jesse one of the most humorous people you could know. So after getting used to him telling people I was WillyJac and asking me why I don’t tell people that’s my name, he emphasized to the friend of his I had just met and says “Hey, so and so, you’ll like this. WillyJac here I knew back in the day and was an influence on like 90% of my sense of humor.” I’m not going to go on about it but that was a compliment I’d wear on a shirt. Awesome.

After, who knows how many, margaritas (little but amazing, every one) I had to head out. I had made a 2:20:00 mix recently that was perfect to give me something to rock out to for the trip there and the trip back. The road to Charlottesville was a crescendo of mind over a traveling body. The time at the house of an old friend held the course on a slow and steady elevation. The event as it was had no room for improvement. And though it was tough I headed back home and picked up where I left off on my tunes made and mixed for a road trip. Windows down, sun roof open. The night was nice and just cool enough.

A ways down 64 I thought, “I was right.”

I had thought on the way down about how I was probably at the time heading to something I was always going to think back on and smile.

Smile.

Think a little more about it.

And smile.

It was good to know myself and so many others had tried to help an incredibly appreciative person.

and that “One True Thing”

was going to happen.

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This weekend posed the opportunity to see a very special wedding between two people who, like small town people tend to be, are treasured in ways that most of us can only envy. I love a wedding when strangers are friendly, open, and fun. Even starting the day feeling pretty crumby and struggling with some issues until late in the afternoon couldn’t keep my spirit down from wanting to enjoy this day. The event took place in the Northern Neck, which is very similar to our own little hometown except that instead of thinking about train tracks you have the river. This is where bride was born and raised. The groom is a person who was firmly embraced by long standing family friends as well as those of his own life. Doubly so after being diagnosed with an extremely rare heart condition that required him to under go a full heart transplant as a young adult preceded by a period of painstaking waiting and worsening in condition. To see him in love and getting married to someone who was as good a fit as she is was simply endearing to give audience to. Uplifting. The day was fraught with surprising elements and features adding accent that personalized event. They had wooden beachy looking signage around the ceremony and reception that had their names or one-word philosophic reminders like “dream” or “hope” or “dance”. The inspiration that love created was everywhere. They had two arondack chairs to sign before going to the reception and lemonade to treat those waiting for a marker. It was the kind of wedding that showed how easy it can be to live and love and bring people together for a fun and memorable day. With an envious heart and misty eyes I wish them a lifetime of endearment and connection, and I thank them for bringing us all together to make today so meaningful for everyone.

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We’re at an age where some people are commenting on being too old in regards to something or make a remark on another person who’s younger than the bunch.
At our house it’s bit of a retired argument in a lot of ways, but there’s a bit of perspective that just revolutionized my interest in persuading those against feeling too old, too ahead of time.
I’ll refrain entirely from the truth that “age is a state of mind” for this one.
When I look at pictures from this weekend and see so many adults having totally wicked, entirely wholesome fun, my mind jumps to visions of when my parents or my aunts & uncles would talk about the fun things they used to do. Back when they we’re always at the lake on the weekend during the Summer, or camping in Hatteras. Back when there was a Camptown Race every year to go to. They always talked about these times being some of the best years of their lives. The picture is certainly that of someone’s hay-day.
Then it hit me that this was when they were our age. My sister and I were kids, so my parents would have been in their 30’s back when we were hanging around different places trying to behave while they carried on with their friends. It made me think we’re living in those times right now and don’t even realize it.
I don’t hear most people I know really talk about getting older with this go ahead and stop trying, why go out and act up, how dare she try and wear that at her age, kinds of mentality. So maybe some of us aren’t spending time dwelling on not being 19 or 20 still.
Keep in mind, no matter what, we’ll never be 19 or 20 again. But would you really want to be? Would you rather trade your last vacation and well-needed break from the norm for staying out late tonight and getting up early to take an exam? I rather be here and no than anywhere, any time else.
I think nowadays things are better than the last decade. Better than college. Better than high school. My friends have meant more to me since the early 2000’s when I cleaned shop and got rid of all the people who caused me problems and were more of a drag than they were fun. My understanding of life and times and the meaning of it all I think grows each year. I’m personally more and more in touch with myself and accepting my accomplishments along with my room to grow. Now is hot you guys. Now is what’s in.
I don’t think all the stories our parents and the friends of the family love to talk about were tainted with worries about being too old to do what they were doing or whether or not they looked like adults trying to hang on to their youth.
I wish everybody had the experience to spend so much time with seniors and the elderly that I did between ’02 and ’11, because I was privy to all kinds of conversations and situations that influenced one’s perspective on age. To try and act, or make yourself seem “old” at 30 around them was insane. They remember themselves at 30 and talk of it like it was their childhood still. All kinds of different people have told me their best days started in their 40’s. My mom would tell you she’s loving her 50’s a lot of days.
Doesn’t that make it seem like there’s no use in worrying about being 30-something? Not only because time is inevitably going to keep moving forward, and we’ll continue getting older by the day, but also because you’re missing out on what beauty is being offered to you as you stand in the here and now. Worrying about the person next to you having the energy you use to have, or being able to maintain their body image more easily than we can now – all of it’s just rubbish thinking. A Buddhist would say these are poisonous thoughts, and things we have control over if we decide we want to change from that way of thinking.
I think a lot of times we want to be younger “just because”. And obviously theres no substance in the desire; even those who want to most won’t ever get the chance to “go back”.
So whenever you’re having that anxious moment where you’re totally fixated on the age you “are” as a problem because you’re no longer the age you “were”, try and remember what you have. And even if there are a few things that are nicer or easier about being that age, there’s probably not much you would enjoy, the way you think you would, if you were back there.
Besides, if all that were true it would be such a “downer” of a conversation.
This is all part of my Feel Good To Be You campaign because, I’m really on your side.

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I write to provide a steady outlet for an ever-swelling kettle of heavy thoughts

and inner suspicions

Pulling lines from a lake of wisdom that says no fishin but still fillin the shores with creatively captured acumen

Not using lures and wiggling victims but sending visions (still twitching) to a depth where pressure fades and meaning is revealed

Lines sway in streams of altered conscious undaunted by passing distractions

The hook only catches pure thoughts of boundless imagination that happens to be passing by

You have to cast a line at the exact time as it’s not a matter of having ‘em snag the bate but a factor of chancing one’s fate & capturing a great moment of inspiration

I like to hold the mental illustration of a thousand lures traded for a second of beauty that only I can see

A brief third-eye inner body experience that I hold to myself & the blessing of how well I can conjure the moments and relive the minutes presented in pristine clarity beyond Technicolor or hi-definition

In this sentence I feel the essence of my living

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Is the glass half full or is it half empty?

We all kind of “want” to say the glass is half full because it means we look at life with a certain appreciation for the simple things and an optimism that means we are typically more pleased than we are unfulfilled. I certainly think I muster those traits pretty well, though sometimes with effort, but if you had to officially register under one status, like it were an option between two open bubbles on a test form, I’d say I’m a glass is half empty person.

It’s hard to think about the answer so easily as what it means versus what you perceive the question to be. The full part is what you notice first, because it’s there. There’s something physically there to look at. But I think a hallmark of wisdom is to always consider the other side, to always remember what you don’t know, and to try to imagine what might be missing from the picture you’re being shown.

So my mind is on the empty part of the glass longer than it is on the full part of the glass.

You hear one side of a story, but what else might there be? What’s missing? What was left out?

Or, you’ve made it to a certain level of accomplishment or expertise in something, but how much further might you be capable of reaching?

The potential for the empty part of the class is like the uncarved stone.

Under this philosophy, the ‘glass is half full’ people I think might be someone who can find something new that they like and fixate specifically on that one thing, whereas others would naturally move forth thinking to themselves “If this thing that is good is out there, then what else like it might be out there?”

I can find the half-full stereotype (philosophical stereotype, I mean) to be a group who takes things more literally or at surface level. When a situation comes along they may stay centered on a focal point and reflexively fail to consider something beyond to the point that they might not change the subject of their focus until the next thing appears. There’s no right or wrong here.

I just think I’m always a half-empty glass kind of person because… the full part is obvious, and the empty part is something to consider.

That’s where your growth is.

The filled part is what is. The empty half is what could be.

The full half is the now. The empty half could be the future.

Where I am versus where I want to be.

What I am and what I could be later.

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This is Summer. Welcome to it.

I was talking with a friend sometime last week about how Summer is moving by. And it’s been a good one. But something was missing. Some very “Summer” was missing.

Taking in 2 soccer coaches from over seas this week turned to be a catalyzing event for not just our friends housing the fun pair, but also for most people in their common circle. The week had frequent and repeated get togethers, dinners out, ice cream socials, slip & slide fiascos, cook outs, beer pong, river swimming, tubing, sleep overs, and more smiles and hardy, hearty laughs  than can ever be counted. The impromptu week of fun, night after night for some, was what was missing. I thank our friends for bringing in Roisin and Ben the Ross.

This snapshot has a little more color.

Work is going alright. My plants are doing well. The city is having no beer shortages and everyone’s healthy as far as we know.

Thank you Summer.

Just as the soft rains fill the streams,
pour into the rivers and join together in the oceans,
so may the power of every moment of your goodness
flow forth to awaken and heal all beings.

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Today was a segue back to hardcore Summer. Fortunately, the uber mundane cadence of the day was enlightened with a little rhythm when I was invited to catch up with some friends for a good dinner near my house. Eight of us were at the same place for our final meal of the day and merriment was abundant. It’s funny how large a fire can start from a spark.

I also interestingly heard an interesting report on NPR this morning. Very rarely do I get in the car and feel like listening to music; this being the only time, – ever. But today was one of those rare days. So rare that I hardly ever get interested in Morning Edition again once my interest has digressed from its customary start to the day. So even more profound was it that in the time for the current minute to nearly eclipse on itself and start anew something would snag my attention and have me thoughtlessly abandon my original intention.

MBSR. Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction. Mindfulness training and meditation really.

I’ve learned and practiced it in different ways and from difference cultures, and am inspired by the healing power of the mind in any language. It’s like slowing the idle by adjusting the engine not the pedal. Excellently interesting report, though it got my mind so wrapped up in thought that I’m not sure I remember listening to any of it. I wanted to remember to Google the subject and see what the current news might have to say about it. Something actually new for an old topic would be nice.

Top of the page: The Ekoji Temple.

Scan through the descrip… Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction Course. 

That’s cool. That’s the name of the temple we were at the other weekend in Fairfax.

click on that

Ekoji Buddhist Sangha. Neat.

…Grove Avenue, Richmond, VA?

Read. Read. Read. I know who might be interested in this since we were just talking about not knowing where a Buddhist temple was in Richmond.

share

– and share alike.

Over a late lunch break I called my mom who had been helping a beloved aunt of mine with getting along while my uncle was away for a few days. She was suffering from a temporary and unknown convolution of ailments they’re just going to have to revisit if it ever happens again. She seems to be doing much better now.

The day ended with the aforementioned levity where myself and 7 others went to dinner at Thai dinner. Say the last part fast as you can. Six more times.

Faster.

Think about it.

Reflect on it.

That’s all I’m really doing right now.

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Boy what a weekend.  Friday I met up with a good old bunch of fun people from my previous work at The Boathouse near Sunday Park. This one is like a lush incomparably scenic version of the more minimalist urban location they opened near Rocket’s Landing.

Saturday my girlfriend and I woke up and soon after started lounging around outside, enjoying the warm but mild run of beautiful days we’ve experienced most of this week while grilling chicken for lunch. Unexpectedly we spent the afternoon on the river with friends, trading off swimming and paddling on the boards. I brought my dog Violette and had a great time in a different way. She likes the water and I love taking her places and letting her have some real excitement. She’s been doing great off-leash for a while now and whenever I take her somewhere like this for an outing I feel I take her up a notch on how life has come to treat her. Since rescuing/adopting her I’ve thought about how rewarding it has been to take her from her cell and take care of her, letting her grow up with love and giving her the many gifts of health. So taking her out and letting her play in the real world is a treat for both of us.

We regrouped with everyone from the river later on and had another chance to just sit about and hang out as a group. Or sometimes a couple little groups. After disbandment an increasingly tinier party went to the midnight showing of the final Harry Potter at the Bow Tie. I started to fade a few times during the 2:20m-long movie, which is likely below average on length for a movie from the series. I’ve been happy with what they’ve done with all of them though. They represent the books well in a number of ways, and the excitement felt over the release of the last movie was a well-deserved continuation of all the emotions felt over the release of the final book. That was long ago now. So there’s even a little nostalgia seeded in with the excitement and resentment over the end of an era.

The World Cup also came to a conclusion today as the USA women’s soccer team failed to best the Japanese rival. I thought about it in my dreams and they seeped into my sleeping mind adjacent to the television mounted above the fire place. I know a lot of people are bummed, but there’s also pride to be gained from respectably losing a game of that magnitude. Not all of us get a chance to be named “the best”. The real value here is the journey, it’s in the rise to the top. And reaching the final bracket is victory. Good job ladies.

I had a previous post remarking and reflecting on the cooler, beautiful string of days that continued throughout most of the last 5 days, but something happened to it to make it not show up on here anymore. I’m thinking about putting up signs, Have you seen my missing blog?

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There’s a glow that permeates the world from the East
and delegates growth of the ferns and the beasts
It spreads across castles, corner stones and turrets
and warms over tassels, farmer’s homes and turnips
The night creatures scurry, belly-fed and weary
With eager eyes chirping, the virgin air merry
The field daisies moistened with evening breath
shed vapor to breezes that stream from the West
As peasants awaken with gentle alert
Woodlanders, restless, commit to their work
And places gone dark since yesterday’s passing
omit once again a colorful masking
Despite the observance of petal-side pests
A pale and round figure still hangs in the West
The country-wide energy increasingly grows
As the mother of all unceasingly glows

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