I think It's Something More

It's weird, but I've been feeling a major up-swing in the good-vibes department of late, despite the economic meltdown and all the fallout from eight years of Bush and co. It's not just that Phish is getting back together, or that I received a major shipment of the Dead yesterday; it seems bigger than any of that, but somehow including it all at the same time.

Like for a while, I found that I couldn't connect with the Dead like I used to. Sure, I could listen to the tunes and sing and have an enjoyable time as I tooled on down the road, but that sense of ecstasy that has always been a hallmark of Dead music for me was somehow missing.

But then, the other day while I was on my way to work, the Eyes of the World from the Grateful Dead Movie came up on my mp3 player, and suddenly I felt that old joyful wonder returning, as if I had reconnected with the infinite Source--dust blown off the Over-Soul.

Maybe it has something to do with the return of Autumn, a time of year that, for whatever reason, I feel more alive and in tune with Nature and the Living World around me. But it isn't just the sunshine dancing off vibrant leaves--it's something more, something intangible and yet more real than the seen world.

Whatever it might be, I feel Big Changes in the air. And while I know the evening news is against me in saying this, I feel that the changes coming are good. Maybe a more enlightened leadership is on its way. Maybe everyone will start getting their act together and realize we have to change our ways and stop the Great Mother Nature Rape. Maybe Terence McKenna was right and December 21, 2012 (Jill's birthday) will bring about the next huge evolutionary stride forward--one of those Space Odyssey moments. Or maybe I've just been in a really good mood lately. But I think it's something more.

Be looking for the great monolith outside your front door.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terence_McKenna

Independance Day

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of the red, white, & blue,
& the Rockies, Wobblies & Woody Guthrie too

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of Monk, Miles, Coltrane & Bird
Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins
Bob Dylan before the Escalade
back when that wild mercury sound
boiled the air with an electric dawn
that called to me on
Highway 61, 1987

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of Howl & On the Road,
Tropic of Cancer & Capricorn too,
Bound for Glory down through my own pen,
the rivers of Li Po through flourishes
of ink on page

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of the unfettered soul,
of the Free Man unchained
from capitalism
from Stalinism
from Maoism
from the whole shit-load of isms
loaded high on the toiling's backs,
to breath in the air of a new day unbound
to never bend the knee to another man,
neither King nor Kaiser
but stand unbent before another
neither crippled by the crushing machine
of cash registers and assembly lines
or cubicle prison cells--
the war for humanity still raging
in the hot iron ovens of our souls

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
that Emma Goldman called us to,
that Proudhon and Bakunin dreamt of
and Gary Snyder points to

I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of the spontaneous anarchism
of Deadhead caravans arrived
in some Midwestern town,
of Kerouac's rucksack revolution
& Thoreau standing silent in dusk's field

& I'm celebrating the Independence Day
of samara's end,
of the enlightenment of all sentient beings
of sitting zazen before a campfire,
breath rising toward the heavenly furnace
bathed in the dance of gentle flames
as the stars burn up the eternity
of all that has passed
in silence
in dreams

Strike Another Match

And so, life starts anew. The Spring finally thaws the permafrost of my soul and the wonder that is existence fills me with its vibrancy once more. Finally, the new year takes hold.

And time to pull up stakes. My wife and I soon to move to a country cottage, which has necessitated a much needed thinning of possessions. Time to get down to the basics (or as close as I can come to them)--a few Buddhist books, some volumes of poetry (East and West), my Henry Miller collection ("always merry and bright!"), some good old Grateful Dead, my old zafu, and of course, Henry David Thoreau. He has been there always, shinning like a morning star on the horizon of a newly born day. If I owe anything to Clinton High School, it is for introducing me to Thoreau and Emerson. They began the puzzle that the Buddha-Dharma completed.

What a disconnect I felt sitting in church as a child between that place of worship and God's living creation outside! Instead of showing reverence for the miracle that is the living world, we raised a brick-and-mortar creation by our own hands and had the audacity to call it "God's house," when we were really separating ourselves from the true abode of the Holy; cutting ourselves off from the spring of life so we could more clearly hear the belchings of the pipe organ.

And I still remember that day in Catholic catechism when we were asked to go outside and go to that place where we could more clearly contemplate God. While others confusedly meandered around the parking lot, I instinctively made a bee-line to the woods--that place of worship I had always returned to since the time I could walk.

Then I was confronted by the dilemma of existence, the dilemma of self. The Buddha-Dharma appeared to me "of itself." Almost by accident, I glimpsed the Ultimate Reality, entering that place where "I" no longer had any meaning. For a moment, I was released from the burden of the self, as if waking from a long dream and seeing the world as it is for the first time. All contradictions fell away; all the horrible questions brought on by ego dissipated before me. I saw, ever so briefly, the One from which there is no separation but is all things as all things are one--the Buddha-Nature, the Tao!

The Transcendentalists were very much signposts on this road of awakening that I am still very much traveling on (still glimpsing, waiting for the pin hole of light to open up and forever envelop the delusion that is that traveler walking the road of awakening). When I read The Over-Soul in High School, I knew exactly what Emerson was writing of--it was that which I had felt my entire life growing up, daily disappearing into the woods to unconsciously pay homage to the living force I felt run like a current through all things, that current that all mystics and holy men feel course through themselves--that current that runs through us all, whether we are able to acknowledge it or not.

And so, in less than two weeks time, I will return to the country. And hopefully return to that place where I might once again more fully feel the pulse that runs through us all. Rest assured, Thoreau will be there with me, loafing away the days beneath the bright summer sun, surrounded by ten-thousand things that are the faces of the One.

feelin' down & dirty

Not a good day today. Our cat (my wife & I) is not doing well, and I think the reality of that sort of hit me today. I also find myself missing good friends who have seemed to have all but disappeared from my life.

I profess to be a Buddhist, but I am constantly reminded how poor a Buddhist I am. I have a lot of trouble with that whole detachment thing. And I admit it, I'm not too good with the Loving-Kindness either; not good at turning the other cheek. I guess the one thing I can say for myself is that I'm not deluded about who I am. Still, I frustrate myself.

Perhaps the current lesson before me is the lesson of letting go--honoring the friendship of the past while acknowledging that things change. But it's a hard thing to do when people who have had a pivotal influence on your life disappear. But then again, I know I'm not the person I was then. I have gone through my changes, and so have they. I guess I somehow always thought that they'd be there, though, in some capacity. At times like these, I am that much more thankful for my wife, knowing that no matter what happens, she will always be there, standing right beside me. That is the one overwhelming consolation I have in the midst of it all--the one person whom I love more than any other, who is my best friend, is the one that will not disappear. For that, I am thankful.

All Things Must Pass
by George Harrison

Sunrise doesn't last all morning
A cloudburst doesn't last all day
Seems my love is up
And has left you with no warning
It's not always been this gray
All things must pass
All things must pass away
Sunset doesn't last all evening
A mind can blow those clouds away
After all this
My love is up and must be leaving
It's not always been this gray
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
None of life's dreams can last
So, I must be on my way
To face another day
And darkness only stays at nighttime
In the morning it will fade away
Daylight is good
At arriving at the right time
It's not always gonna be this gray
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
All things must pass away

Snowy Day Thoughts

I was on my way out the door to work when my wife, who had just driven to her workplace, called and told me not to chance it. "Everything's closed," she said, "no point in risking your life." "Fine," I said, and promptly called into work to inform them that I would not be making the trek in.

There is something about a snow day where one cannot help but feel like a child again. Perhaps it's that cozy feeling one gets while watching the snow pile up outside while one is in the warmth of their home. I can't but help feel sorry for our cousins to the south. They will never know that sense of gentle peace that accompanies a snowfall, that warmth that comes with the cold that warm places never suspect. So many holiday songs must be incomprehensible to them--those that dwell in the sweltering swamps of the south.

There is also something contemplative about the winter. It's not just a matter of being hold up with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company (though I suppose that helps). There is more to it than that. It's as if the entire world has turned inward. The trees shed their leaves and become almost dead to the world, all the while filled with the life force waiting patiently to spring forth once more in a few months time. The squirrel, having made his store during the warmer months, now retires to the hollow of a tree, made warm and hospitable by whatever was scrounged from the forest floor. The fox dreams in this den; the bear slumbers in his cave. And we humans turn to our own abodes, as if following an ancient ancestral instinct of our forebears gathered around a fire while the world around them fell off to sleep.

For all our efforts at "modernizing" ourselves, we can never, despite our best attempts, cut ourselves off from nature. Even as we race to some unseen future at breakneck speed, our feet are anchored to the earth beneath us, no less so than the maple or oak. Even if we ourselves have forgotten that gentle language of a newborn sun's light played over the skin, our bodies have not. Though we may deny our place in the world around us, our physical beings stand to give testimony to the contrary. We are not merely a part of the world around us, but in a very real sense, we are that world itself, both inside and out. Any talk of separation is only a delusion that we indulge ourselves in, to our own detriment. To speak of ourselves and the world in which we reside as being separate is like saying electrons are separate from molecules, or that oxygen is separate from the air or water. No one would think to make such a nonsensical statement, so then, why is it that we continually insist that we are somehow separate from the life that constantly burgeons forth all around us--the air we breath, the water we drink, the food we eat. Aren't we made up of the nutrients we absorb from our food and drink? And when we examine the world on the molecular level, isn't it that much more difficult to definitively say where one thing ends and another begins? When such things are taken into account, is it really that far of a stretch to say that the perception that everything is a separate entity is really illusory?

As science continues to peer closer and closer at both the infinitesimal and that astronomical, it is becoming increasingly apparent how closely related everything is, from the cosmos down to the molecular--everything is intertwined. When one considers the vast forces of cause and effect at play in the universe, talk of an individual self, separate from everything, suddenly seems almost laughable.

We live at a time when we are seeing the fruition of the effects caused by humanity's delusion that it is somehow separate from the world around us. We have thus far collectively failed to truly comprehend our place within the world, to devastating effect. That so many peoples of various religions have interpreted their respective holy texts as placing them separate in the creation, and that the world is more or less at their complete disposal, cannot help. That we are beings of a certain intelligence cannot be denied. But with that innate intelligence comes a massive responsibility, one which, so far, we have failed utterly.

Until we learn to live at one with the world, and not try to bend it to our own narrow ends, we will have failed at the great lessons of life. That there have been sages such as Lao Tzu and the Buddha throughout our history that have taught a different way of not only living, but of looking at the world around us in new and revolutionary ways, is a sign of hope. That we are victims of technology, prisoners and wardens both, cannot be denied. Our advancements have far outdistanced our understanding of ourselves and the world of which we are a part. Until we glimpse our true natures, and the true nature of reality itself, we will continue to be captives of this cast iron reality we have forged with our own hands.

On Ryan Adams & The Cardinals' Easy Tiger and Follow the Lights

Through that fast-paced year of 2005, Ryan Adams (with and without his band, the Cardinals) released no less than three albums: Cold Roses--a double album that captured the raw, immediate beauty that rock music once caught in the able hands of such masters as the Grateful Dead, Neil Young, Bob Dylan and others, which was followed up by the unexpected, unadorned honky tonk mastery of Jacksonville City Nights, recorded in exactly the same way that they used to cut records down at Sun Records--and it sounded like it too. Next came an album that was actually recorded before the two preceding it, but was the last released. I guess Lost Highway felt that somehow might ease the blow of its dark, delicate majesty. Alas, to no avail--29 is a sonic travelogue through the shadow lands of broken ties, loneliness and addiction, a sort of Danteian warning for all those who might follow down the bleak abyss of empty bottles and crystal-encrusted baggies. It was the most produced work of the triad, but the production seemed to serve a purpose--a sort of sonic architecture of a damaged soul.

Then came the silence of a year. "What had happened?", we all wondered. The creative torrent, all those signposts down the ragged road cut through the night at breakneck speed had suddenly, seemingly run out of gas. Was it the quiet before the storm? Was he readying a country-rock magus opus that would bring tears to Gram Parsons' blood-shot eyes?

And then the announcement was made. After all the waiting and expectation, a new album was indeed to be released. It even had a write up by Stephen King to whet out collective appetite. Hot damn! He says it's even better than Cold Roses and Jacksonville! The appointed day came. We all rushed out and bought the CD (and completists like myself got the record as well--nothing beats vinyl, right? And orange vinyl to boot! Why not? It was a new Ryan Adams album, like manna dropped down from Heaven itself! Might as well go the whole nine yards). We gathered around stereos and record players to feast our ears.

And what did we get? Easy Tiger--a decent enough album. But to my ears it was lacking a certain umph. The ragged beauty of Cold Roses and JCN had been replaced by a rather slick production--a little too slick to my ears, as if Ryan wanted to stoke the fires of Grateful Dead comparisons a little more by presenting to the world an album of songs that had been sterilized in the laboratory of the studio much like the Dead's post-early seventies output.

Again--this is not to say it's a bad album. It is anything but. But the passion, the outright balls-to-the-wall daring of Cold Roses isn't there. The thrill of hearing the buzz of the amps before Beautiful Sorta is missing. Goodnight Rose is there, but its not the same electric affirmation we had grown to love from the live recordings.

The one song that really shines from the production is Tears of Gold, where the voices of Ryan and the Cardinals blend and take flight in a way that you have a very hard time getting in the live setting. And I did dig the simple, folkie elegance of Pearls On a String.

In short, Easy Tiger is an enjoyable album, but not the kind to rip your ears off and leave you salivating for more (like both Cold Roses and JCN did for me).

And then the EP Follow the Lights was released yesterday. And I know you shouldn't expect the Second Coming in the form of an EP, but this is Ryan Adams and the Cardinals we are talking about, so you will forgive me if I may have glanced skyward once or twice.

Well, it wasn't the second coming. But it did have its moments.

The song Follow the Lights itself sounds more like it belongs on a soundtrack album than anything else (I think I read somewhere that it actually is going to be used on some television show). But there was nothing in it that really grabbed me.

My Love For You Is Real has a little bit more going for it. It would have fit in nicely on Easy Tiger. Production wise, it was definitely born of the same sonic womb.

Blue Hotel is a song that I had already fallen in love with through the live recordings I had heard of it (and Ryan had already loaned it out to Willie Nelson). It is presented here as a more acoustic affair (as oppose it its more electric siblings that have graced stages near and far). It was a little more restrained than I would have liked. A good rendition--but where's the bite?

The cover of Alice In Chains' Down In a Hole might earn Ryan a place as vocalist in their next tour, if he'd be down with that. It is the first time on the record that we get a little of the old Ryan Adams' yarrah. And who else could have made a steel guitar sound so natural on an Alice In Chains' song?

The rest of the EP is comprised of new recordings of old songs. This Is It, originally off the tongue-in-check "fuck off, Lost Highway" record, Rock N Roll presents an interesting new take on it, that, for whatever reason, sounds to my ears like it could have been recorded in the mid-nineties (is it because Down In a Hole precedes it?).

The new version of If I Am a Stranger (originally off of Cold Roses) lacks the sense of desperation the original had. It does evoke a sad sort of quiet, like acoustic guitars being gently strum in a distant room on a dark October afternoon. It is one of the high points on the album: but again, it seems a little too, in a word--safe.

The EP ends with a new rendition of Jacksonville's heart-breaking tale of death and the loneliness of survivors, Dear John. This may be the best song on the collection. An acoustic solo adds a new twist to an old beauty. But this new one lacks the ragged heart-wrenching glory of the original.

To sum it up--it seems like Ryan & the Cardinals are playing it a little too safe in the studio. (I recently saw them live twice in the same week and I can assure you that they are in no way in danger of making this mistake on the stage. They are quite possibly the best live band around right now.) Their recordings seem to lack that haphazard brilliance they bring to the stage. Don't be afraid to tear it up! Break a few goddamn guitar strings! But be your wild and wonderfully chaotic selves! And fuck what Lost Highway (or any other record company) thinks. And fuck the critics too! Be Ryan Adams & the Cardinals!

Book Notice

I hope to begin a book on my travels through Europe within the next few days. It will use the movement of travel as a vehicle to explore life in all its multifaceted brilliance, touching on an array of characters and experiences that I encountered as I traveled from Ireland to the Czech Republic and back in the space of a month.

Wish me luck.