Turn Out the Lights

 

“I can’t make love with the lights on,”

you say,

not breathless the way Marilyn Monroe

sang to JFK,

but breathless like the last few minutes

Of Perry Mason

when the witness,

after lying for 50 minutes

suddenly confesses

because there’re only 10 minutes left

and they need a commercial.

You’re frightened that your body

won’t stand up to scrutiny.

Don’t you realize that I love you?

Despite my dark eyes

there isn’t dark around my eyes,

I’m not the Raymond Burr raccoon

I’m sorry you feel you have to shave

your legs

pluck

your eyebrows.

You’re caught in the dichotomy of looking

beautiful  

but somehow not wanting to be noticed.

I’m sorry that you can only find

push-up bras

or extremely padded ones,

you want to de-emphasize your breasts

not emphasize them.

I think it started when Gloria Steinem

usurped Betty Friedan.

Our Language Is So Limiting

God is Essence

Our limited thinking makes it hard for us to not think of God as being a male deity--which intellectually we know is so silly, and at the very least limiting.  Even if one points how Jesus refers to him as the father, that is only because our limited minds couldn't think of anything that wasn't animal, plant, mineral, or man,. Would it seem silly to call God a Daisy? I guess now it may seem silly to some.  But, is love male or female?  Love is both good and bad, "Boy do I love me some smothered-fried-chicken, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, biscuits with lots of butter, cobbler and ice cream."  When I taught high school my analogy was always a rose--a simple to point out the beauty and the thorn.  To me God is the ultimate expression of love and for our puny brains to express this is impossible, our language is so finite. 

The Heart Has A memory

The Heart Has A Memory

  

I will dance with you tonight

But I won’t eat your stuffing

I will stroke your cheek in the sun

But I won’t put marshmallows

on the candied yams.

I have done away with want and desire of the temporal,

my dreams that happen during the day aren’t

really dreams at all,

they are the visual expressions of my heart;

my heart charges into a burning building

with no way out

but the soul wants to learn the way

to the next phase of eternity,

the pain and loss

that any true love has.

How forever after is never

when sex is not love

 and one becomes disenchanted like the 7 year old

that doesn’t believe in Santa Claus,

so we reach out

to a shadow sliced by the sun.

LOW GEAR

low gear
for Donald Sterling

 

  

Low gear everybody down
low gear we're gonna hunt you down
we're sure to find your neighbor
we're sure to find your pal
then we'll tie you up and drown you in the Erie Canal.

The whole country
is operating on the lowest gear
it's the fear
that the fox
gives the American public,
traps them in a box
as if the government
isn't comprised of people
it's so simple
it's like pinching a pimple,
but the mind is the thing
being squeezed
and then we drop to your knees
start begging please
get rid of those over there
it's not fair
that they're taking our jobs
and we don't care
they're not like us
and we don't mean to make a fuss
but sleeping with the same sex is obscene
               what I mean
is God said love your neighbor as yourself
but he didn't mean them
and he didn't mean those that've sneaked across
the border in droves
we mean people like us, just ask Jerry Buss
he knew everything
but don't ask Donald Sterling

                                                      

 

What Little I Know About Love

 Morals can’t be legislated; but behavior can be regulated ( Stride Toward Freedom, Martin Luther King Jr. p.175)

   One of the central problems with Christians is that they tend to think their book of faith has all the answers, exclusively. If one belongs to any organized religious institution it is believed that all one needs to know is written down by some God fearing man, a spiritual man—and this stuff, these theories, beliefs, these proverbs, these rules, this knowledge, and this information is written down in the scriptures. Some monk living in the hills has interpreted those scriptures to reveal some eternal truth.  And, as far as the bible is concerned it does hold eternal truths; but the word eternal is different from the word internal.  Consequently, Christians think what their church believes, specifically what their religious institution over emphasizes, usually one of several standard Christian themes, that becomes their cross bearer. It’s either the Great Commission, gifts of the spirit, you have to say Jehovah, you must believe in the trinity, positive thinking.  It’s enough to make your head spin like Linda Blair.  And don’t get me started on the magic underwear.  Once, on my mom’s insistence, we toured the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove, California. I don’t think they believe in the power of underwear but the docent did say, “We all know Angeles are white.”

    What Christian religious institutions all have in common is that they think these few verses, or even a single verse is God specifically communicating to them, and He could be.  Logically, though, if God were to demand your faith to hinge off of one verse verily verily I say unto I doubt it’d be as restrictive as gays are bad, don’t have an abortion, or any other verse that could be twisted into a narrow focus, especially given our late 20^th century mores and norms.         Obviously it’s the 21^st century now—but I take nothing for granted since we elected Bush twice, elected Obama at all, and the public seemed shocked that the government spies on us. Rationally, this all important biblical verse/verses should have a more catholic appeal capable of being applied to a variety of situations.  Certainly it should be deeper than gays are bad, Republicans go to heaven, abortion is unforgivable, but killing a nurse that assists in an abortion is okay. Ironically these same people don’t mind the state killing people. Hating gays, even disparaging gays is such a limited objective.  Conversely, a message of love is much nobler.  Furthermore, the theme of love is constantly emphasized by the Prince of Peace in the New Testament (Luke 10:27-28).  When asked how to inherit eternal life, Jesus replied, “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.”  That’s all you have to do—love love, love to love, and love to be loved.  How simple is that? So simple we can’t seem to do it.  Frost’s Mending Wall poses that question a century ago; don’t put up unneeded barriers just because of tradition.  Unconditional love can be juxtaposed against traditional Judeo-Christian attitudes towards gays as well as abortions, despite love being the greatest gift of all (1 Cor 13:13).

   Currently, Christians claim that they believe the bible was inspired by God and written by man.  But historically, it hasn’t been that long since Christians claimed that the bible was the direct word of God.  This fight between conservative literalists and rational liberals came to a climax early in the 20^th century and the theology changed.  In practice, though, many Christians still believe the Bible is the direct word of God; and so God’s unadulterated, pure word becomes the language and dogma of organized religion. Each sect or denomination is slightly different. 
    Even the most fundamentalist Christian would have to admit, at least publically if pinned down, that God exists mostly beyond the Bible.  This metaphysical God presents himself as the Holy Ghost—God’s spirit.  But, isn’t the very definition of God a spirit?  And so, to talk sensibly about a spirit is such a dichotomy.  Yes, I believe there are spirits and they can communicate, but to talk openly and candidly about spirits in the secular world is the first step towards being locked up or getting your own reality TV show.  But, in the religious subculture language is subtle and codified.  “The Holy Spirit spoke to me,” is a common phrase Christians use.   Exactly what people imagine that means is presumptuous for me to say.  I doubt, though, people believe you saw a burning bush or heard a booming voice from a dark ominous cloud.  Instead, I imagine what one thinks is the little voice inside their head said blah blah blah. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake for that.  We lock you up in the psych-ward for hearing voices in your head.  Actually, we put you in the psych ward, put you on at least two medications, and possibly a third to control the side effects of 1 of the first two drugs.  Then we make you go for a week of outpatient therapy.  Unless, of course, you’re part of the religious subculture. Then we send up some white smoke, and you’re the Pope.

   One has to be open to hear and accept God’s communication.  One may have to be quiet to hear God simply because one has to be quiet to establish any relationship. A relationship and a conversation require that each person talks, while the other is quiet and listens.  Men, pastors, women, priests, theologians, laity who believe God is uniquely working solely through them, that they have the special truth, are probably lying to themselves if they’re sincere, but obviously on a guru trip. 

      No two souls are alike and what connects us is God’s love which unites all of our souls for God’s purpose.  “No other soul but yours can satisfy the same need in God.”  He needs us all to act our various parts to create that perfect whole.  So, even a Hitler is not a mistake.  One could argue that the cruelty of Hitler’s Nazi regime propelled the Jews to no longer be the openly hated ethnicity they once were.  Well, everywhere except where their country is. I think the Jews should’ve done what the Armenians did after their last genocide—move to Glendale, California. Now the gentleman’s agreement in the Western world is to never publically be anti-Semitic. Instead, Arabs are the current anathema to the world. Accordingly, a loathsome person as Hitler is not a mistake because of Karma—cause and effect, because of the divine plan.  It is as if   God’s creation of the human experience adjusts itself with precision for every eventuality.  God’s love is like the stream from the melting snowcapped mountains—its wet trail will continue progressing despite a boulder suddenly in its path.  God’s love will always break thru.  The dilemma is Christians get hung up on language, which is so limiting in the first place, especially in describing the indescribable.   Consequently Jehovah, Allah, God, a higher power, the universe—some of these terms Christians consider blasphemous if used in the wrong narrow context.  All these names, the nomenclature in general, cause an unneeded and hopefully unintended discord.  It’s important to remember that Jesus was the ultimate radicle-usurping the authority of the church officials.  We are all in the wilderness now, all of us—there is no Garden of Eden. The Rolling Stones cite one of the most important experiences of Christ’s—besides, I don’t believe any Christian truly believes unless they have their moment of doubt in faith. 

We Don’t Use Technology—It Uses US

 

We Don’t Use Technology—It Uses US

Thoreau said, “We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us.”  As I lift the couch cushions searching for the television remote, I’m missing my show. I could just as easily walk to the TV and push the buttons.  But I resist; not sure why.

Our dependency on technology must be the same reason why I don’t know anyone’s number by heart.  My phone remembers numbers for me.  We all used to remember a bunch of numbers.  I still remember my grandparents’ number, Pilgrim, or PI 4-2426. And, the exchange in Manhattan was Murray Hill.

I don’t have to be home to watch my favorite show I can TVO it.  I can begin to watch the World Series or the Super Bowl, go to the bathroom—even if I have food poisoning and stay in there for hours and not miss a second, except the commercials. Which reminds me, poison and poisson, which I think is French for fish, sound and look so similar.  Is that a fair warning that fish can be poisonous?  And, pollo is Spanish for chicken.  Do the romantic languages begin the spelling of all their meats with P? 

The reason why all these ideas float in my head is because of technology.  I spend too much time playing X Box, and I’m on my cell phone all the time. My cell phone makes it impossible to hide from my friends, or the government.   Sure, the GPS helps you find places, but it helps them find you.  Plus, I carry my laptop everywhere I go—especially at Starbucks. I have to look like I belong, don’t I? All this has caused my brain to have a critical mass meltdown.  

So, maybe Thoreau was right—perhaps I should go to the woods to live deliberately. But then again, I don’t have the servants to bring me breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Damn all my youthful idols, Ginsburg, Dylan, Cleaver and Lichtenstein are phonies.
                                                                                          

 

Don't Postpone Joy

Don’t Postpone Joy

It’s instinctively natural when you’re a kid for you to lay on your back, look up at the sky— grayish animals, ashen castles, and ephemeral people drift by urged by an imploring, inconsistent breeze.  When you get older you tend to only look up at the sky to see what the weather is like—do I need an umbrella? There’s even less of a need to look up towards the Southern California sky when every day is sunny and warm. 

When you’re a kid walking home you might kick a can for blocks, and if you’re with your friend it can turn out to be a competitive game.  As an adult if you’re seen kicking a can down the street you’re probably imagining someone’s head as being the can.  Most adults have to schedule joy, usually it’s birthdays, anniversaries, or vacations.

I’ve always found the phrase wake up and smell the roses ridiculous, but that’s probably because I had horrible hay fever growing up. My eyes had to be pried open with hot compresses in the summer; the gooeyness was so overwhelming.  Sometimes I’d have a nightmare, go to open my eyes but I’d be stuck there with whoever was chasing me. But smelling roses first thing in the morning is so languidly la-de-da.  You’d have to be a kid to wake up with that attitude; a kid, or in Barbara Streisand’s bedroom from On a Clear Day. The room was filled with flowers, the sheets, the comforter, the wall paper--Yuck. Wake-up and smell the coffee—now that makes sense. Get up, get going, and where’s my cigarettes?

Regrettably as adults, especially in the West, we find most of our joy from things—big square things; primarily TV’s, cell phones, cars, and houses.  I think we should look for joy in more round things—the sun, the face of someone you love, their eyes. 
     But more importantly it’s the things you don’t readily see that should bring you joy; the circle that love traverses to get back to you. You give it out and it travels around the country, around the world, through lifetimes because it had to come back to you where God originally planted it.  My friend Bobbi prattled on forever about this book You Can Heal Your Life, and 10 years later someone gave it to me as a present.  And, both she and the book have been an eternal stream of joy and inspiration ever since.  Joy isn’t postponed; you just need to be more aware—it’s usually right in front of you.