I remember when, six years ago, I was a pathetic little creature who desperately wanted this very mean boy to want me because he fit neatly into what Dr. Helen Fisher would refer to as my love map (www.helenfisher.com.) Because he adored Rachael Ray and some virtuoso guitar gal, among countless others and, it seemed, anyone but me, they became my mortal enemies.
This evening, many moons away from such oaths of resentment, I noticed a tweet by this guitar girl, and, though musical genius she may be, she is but a political lemming. The gist was her expressing a collective sense of accomplishment, that (good) history had been made. Any vestige of former jealousies vanished. Inwardly I released a half-sigh/half-snicker. You see, that boy was (and may still be; I bulldozed him off of my landscape long ago!) the drummer in a math rock band that was all about being uber-progressive, but, in truth, it was a joke; this dude was far more interested in libido than liberation than he'd ever admit; I just couldn't see it then. So here was one of his admired publicly embarrassing herself by endorsing big government. Yet, with so much of my former resentment having dissipated, the initial demirelief gave way to disappointment and then depression rather quickly. The effect was amplified by a pro-Obamacare facebook update by a venue we have played a couple of times. Eight people liked it! Why do this artist, this small business, and these eight people think they've won a free lunch? Have any of these people educated themselves? Have they read the monstrous bill?
I know it's not popular to discuss religion or politics, but my contention remains that such an axiom is detrimental and antithetical to democracy. Is that all this is? A giant popularity contest? Well, then, do tell me how the unpopular changes are going to be made in this country. We are faced with currency devaluation, GE contamination, record unemployment, the co-opting of true environmental causes by ludicrous carbon-trading schemes, exorbitant war budgets wasted on conflicts we vehemently opposed, and the ever-deteriorating health of our people, just to name a few pressing matters.
To force Americans who do not want or need this sick care, to coerce those of us who make conscious choices to practice health via unpatentable and unprofitable modes such as eating right, exercising daily, and reducing stress to pay a hefty price for something we cannot use is an outrage, and I am astounded that more of my peers aren't up in arms over it. And to do this to an economy that is already tanking!?!
The process of our so-called representatives getting this legislation through was, like the bill itself, hardly constitutional. Obama was supposed to be working on our behalf, but he made it known that his plan would pass with or without our support for it, the implication being that ultimately Washington knows what is best for us. It sets a precedent of their forcing us to buy goods and services we do not need. Who's the winner?
The proof is in the pudding. Bloomberg reported today that "U.S. stocks extended gains today, erasing an early decline, as health-care shares rallied after the House passed the industry overhaul." Why are stakes in insurance companies soaring? Because they have millions of new reluctant clients who face fines for failure to participate in mandatory "health care," enforcement power given to, you guessed it, the IRS. The article continues,
"Under the bill, Americans will have to buy insurance or pay a penalty, with the possibility of tapping new purchasing exchanges and government aid for lower-income Americans.
Republicans said the costs will balloon, criticized the increases in government programs and held out the possibility that private insurance and medical care would be hurt.
“We are looking at a health-care bill that nobody in this body believes is satisfactory,” House Minority Leader John Boehner said prior to the vote. “We have failed to reflect the will of our constituents.”
I do not find it humorous that we have been trampled yet again. It isn't cute that this war president of ours received a peace prize, nor do I find it charming that he has not dismantled the Patriot Act, as promised, or ceased rule via executive order, as pledged. It is particularly upsetting that even the once courageous Dennis Kucinich capitulated, deciding to support what he formerly dubbed a bailout to insurance companies. Broken systems, broken words, broken records, broken hope.
We don't need hope, though. We need action, and dozens of states are already preparing to fight what Mike Adams has coined "hell care," as they should.
I don't want to shell out thousands of dollars each year for something I am not going to use. I want to be able to use that money to invest as I do now, in my body, through clean food and healthy habits. If government really cared about our health, why would they be pushing additional GMO's into our food supply, like GE alfalfa, when there is mounting evidence that these experimental crops destroy human health and pose catastrophic environmental dangers? Why then have they attacked naturopathy and the supplements industry and organic standards? Why have they not promoted Vitamin D as the major cancer preventative that it is when the majority of the population is thought to be deficient and when the simple act of getting a little sunshine could save countless lives? Is it because the government doesn't own the sun--yet???
I love being able to afford to eat well. I love having enough leisure time to exercise and work on my craft. I love being creative. I love freedom.
But Congress just sold me out. If we don't get this repealed before the bankruptcy of the country does that all on its own, as Ron Paul predicts, I am not going to be able to continue living here much longer or making music, my greatest passion. It will be a fiscal impossibility. A moral one as well.
I don't know about you, but I've appreciated the semblance of freedom we have enjoyed up until now, and now having indulged in its substitute, I could REALLY go for the REAL thing. There is absolutely no way I'm going backward!!!
No thanks, Mr. President. I do not want unemployment or irradiated frankenfoods or bodyscans or endless war or Big Pharma's latest vaccinations and medication side-effects--or forking over this declining dollar to subsidize them. I was born free, and I intend to stay that way. I will not be jabbed or fried, swindled or silenced.
22.3.10
15.3.10
Charlotte Sometimes
My favorite bands in high school were the Smiths, the Cure, Depeche Mode, New Order, and, haha, yes, the Dead Kennedys. I was never in the middle artistically, politically, socially, or emotionally, but I faked it for a long time.
Until the morning of what was to be my first day of my second year at Berkeley, when I found myself unable to drag my skinny body out of bed. "No, thank you," it seemed to say to my brain, which promptly went crazy.
Questions fired. What would happen during roll call? How would I explain missing the introductory lectures of courses that were already impacted? What if I got dropped?
I'd seen it happen. I'd felt so sorry for those faceless names whose owners hadn't bothered showing up, knowing quite well that there were dozens of waitlisted students ready to assume position. I'd felt superior before. But no more. I had mutated into that shameful Other. I was staying in bed. I wasn't "feeling" school. In a few short minutes, I had decided to take the year off to play in the broadest context possible: music, photography, beach, books, whatever. On a whim, I had silenced those desires which had been nagging at me, only, of course, in exchange for the parental torment appropriate to such a decision.
That is how I became intimate with intuitive leads.
It was a lucrative move indeed; that year, I would write and record three songs that gave me early glimpses of wealth, and they still bring quarterly treats! But, at the time, I was just following my heart. I brushed off the concerns of the many wet blankets. I told them I would go back to college, and I did. In fact, upon returning, I finished up in only 2 years plus a short summer session, maintaining my scholarship-required GPA and even making the Dean's List en route. If I had listened to the well-meaning creeps, I'd be sadder and poorer for it today, no doubt. I was growing into my natural fearlessness. I would eventually lose track of it a couple of years in before uncovering it once again.
More and more, life seems to be this game, just like Flossie says. A game of consciousness: holding it, dropping it, and then giving it another go. In this light, there is no room for sadness. Only fun. And validation. The biggest lessons do seem but mere reminders of the giant truths you've always harbored.
Questions arise. How absolutely fearless can you be? How fully can you show up to the present moment? How deeply can you love? What are you prepared to give?
Sometimes I forget. Today I knew I needed a reminder. I just didn't know how I would get it. So I called Charlotte.
She is my best souvenir from those blurry Berkeley days. We became buds when she wound up in my introductory drawing class, excited to make the most of her discounted senior citizen enrollment. We went to the park. We went to the market. We laughed and played. We talked about the universe. We were the oddest pair, a smiling Japanese grandma and a mighty brooding waif, but we knew each other, and, at the end of the term, from this place of knowing, I was able to sketch a portrait of her that earned me the highest praise from our critic of a teacher. He dubbed me the Chosen One.
This morning, restless in the sun, my fingers poking at my inconstant iPhone, I was prepared to say:
"Sometimes, Charlotte, I want to quit. I don't see any progress whatsoever, and I consider it a very cruel joke to have tried so hard for so long to accomplish this and to still have nothing to show for it."
But speaking with her reminded me of the more marvelous variations of myself. I could see more. Nothing wasn't nothing after all, and suddenly those words and attitudes had no place in our conversation. They were quickly replaced by acknowledgment and gratitude.
When I was having a shet time a year and a half ago, after Vespa boy made sure my Roman holiday ended in a ditch near Melrose and Vine, this magical sense of connection and protection slowly blanketed me. Once I was calm enough to sleep through the night, I could again receive songs as I returned to my waking state. This particular batch, though, was infused with even greater meaning than usual. Through my matins music, I was able to heal. The last dawn download of this mending era was the Cure's "Charlotte Sometimes." As is often the case, a certain more important lyrical segment will loop in my head, thus demanding extra attention, and this is the section that beckoned me that hour:
sometimes i'm dreaming
she hopes to open shadowed eyes
on a different world
come to me
scared princess
charlotte sometimes
Flossie says, in a magnetizing state, you envision yourself as the daughter of the King: a princess, then, given her kingdom. Sometimes I am that scared princess. Sometimes I am afraid I've lost my birthright--that there will be no prince, no castle, no kingdom...and that I don't even have the King's phone number anymore! That message of the morn was the King dialing my number, a reminder that the world that has been dreamed for me, the one vastly different from the gloom that's left me weary, is yet awaiting my arrival. Whenever I'm off, whenever I'm discouraged, whenever I'm so lonely that the only thing that could possibly fill the surrounding emptiness is the steady reach of my heartbeats, the command from this invisible King remains: "Wipe away those tears, dear. Brush off the dust, and don your prettiest dress. Nothing is ever lost, and there is no reason to be afraid."
Until the morning of what was to be my first day of my second year at Berkeley, when I found myself unable to drag my skinny body out of bed. "No, thank you," it seemed to say to my brain, which promptly went crazy.
Questions fired. What would happen during roll call? How would I explain missing the introductory lectures of courses that were already impacted? What if I got dropped?
I'd seen it happen. I'd felt so sorry for those faceless names whose owners hadn't bothered showing up, knowing quite well that there were dozens of waitlisted students ready to assume position. I'd felt superior before. But no more. I had mutated into that shameful Other. I was staying in bed. I wasn't "feeling" school. In a few short minutes, I had decided to take the year off to play in the broadest context possible: music, photography, beach, books, whatever. On a whim, I had silenced those desires which had been nagging at me, only, of course, in exchange for the parental torment appropriate to such a decision.
That is how I became intimate with intuitive leads.
It was a lucrative move indeed; that year, I would write and record three songs that gave me early glimpses of wealth, and they still bring quarterly treats! But, at the time, I was just following my heart. I brushed off the concerns of the many wet blankets. I told them I would go back to college, and I did. In fact, upon returning, I finished up in only 2 years plus a short summer session, maintaining my scholarship-required GPA and even making the Dean's List en route. If I had listened to the well-meaning creeps, I'd be sadder and poorer for it today, no doubt. I was growing into my natural fearlessness. I would eventually lose track of it a couple of years in before uncovering it once again.
More and more, life seems to be this game, just like Flossie says. A game of consciousness: holding it, dropping it, and then giving it another go. In this light, there is no room for sadness. Only fun. And validation. The biggest lessons do seem but mere reminders of the giant truths you've always harbored.
Questions arise. How absolutely fearless can you be? How fully can you show up to the present moment? How deeply can you love? What are you prepared to give?
Sometimes I forget. Today I knew I needed a reminder. I just didn't know how I would get it. So I called Charlotte.
She is my best souvenir from those blurry Berkeley days. We became buds when she wound up in my introductory drawing class, excited to make the most of her discounted senior citizen enrollment. We went to the park. We went to the market. We laughed and played. We talked about the universe. We were the oddest pair, a smiling Japanese grandma and a mighty brooding waif, but we knew each other, and, at the end of the term, from this place of knowing, I was able to sketch a portrait of her that earned me the highest praise from our critic of a teacher. He dubbed me the Chosen One.
This morning, restless in the sun, my fingers poking at my inconstant iPhone, I was prepared to say:
"Sometimes, Charlotte, I want to quit. I don't see any progress whatsoever, and I consider it a very cruel joke to have tried so hard for so long to accomplish this and to still have nothing to show for it."
But speaking with her reminded me of the more marvelous variations of myself. I could see more. Nothing wasn't nothing after all, and suddenly those words and attitudes had no place in our conversation. They were quickly replaced by acknowledgment and gratitude.
When I was having a shet time a year and a half ago, after Vespa boy made sure my Roman holiday ended in a ditch near Melrose and Vine, this magical sense of connection and protection slowly blanketed me. Once I was calm enough to sleep through the night, I could again receive songs as I returned to my waking state. This particular batch, though, was infused with even greater meaning than usual. Through my matins music, I was able to heal. The last dawn download of this mending era was the Cure's "Charlotte Sometimes." As is often the case, a certain more important lyrical segment will loop in my head, thus demanding extra attention, and this is the section that beckoned me that hour:
sometimes i'm dreaming
she hopes to open shadowed eyes
on a different world
come to me
scared princess
charlotte sometimes
Flossie says, in a magnetizing state, you envision yourself as the daughter of the King: a princess, then, given her kingdom. Sometimes I am that scared princess. Sometimes I am afraid I've lost my birthright--that there will be no prince, no castle, no kingdom...and that I don't even have the King's phone number anymore! That message of the morn was the King dialing my number, a reminder that the world that has been dreamed for me, the one vastly different from the gloom that's left me weary, is yet awaiting my arrival. Whenever I'm off, whenever I'm discouraged, whenever I'm so lonely that the only thing that could possibly fill the surrounding emptiness is the steady reach of my heartbeats, the command from this invisible King remains: "Wipe away those tears, dear. Brush off the dust, and don your prettiest dress. Nothing is ever lost, and there is no reason to be afraid."
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