Skip to main content

Clarity



‘I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth…’

‘Some kind of night into your darkness
Colors your eyes with what's not there.

Mazzy Star

Sometimes the battle is getting others seeing the truth of you, no matter how forceful you say it, or what the documentation you bring to the argument. Sometimes it’s not enough to be clear even though you could not be more clear.

I have used the start of the following song for years as a meditative device. I sing it under my breath over and over. It’s my go to chant that’s worked for decades.

It's a Door’s song about Otis Redding -- but I substitute the word god for the word Otis and have found it makes all the difference.

It’s my religion.

“Poor Otis dead and gone
Left me here to sing his song.
“Pretty little girl with a red dress on.”
Poor Otis dead and gone”

God is dead, but I’m not – My purpose is to sing about life, while lamenting the loss of the father -- Understanding that with the gift of life comes the promise of death, and the place where all things become new again.

New stuff raised in the waste and effort of dusty bones.






-->

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Explain nothing, except your self

Explain nothing, except your self. I feel like the last of a tribe struggling to keep my identity a secret from the mob, one step ahead at best, reduced to hiding in bushes from the monsters waiting to snag and devour me. Sort of a delicacy and a poison – a non-specific drug that exudes memes instead of hormones and physical highs – subconscious, primitive analog get-off-ness apparently responsible for some weird competitive advantage consolidating over geological time out of our mixed genus ancestors, or maybe Texans. At the same time, I feel like spasmed dots from gods own printer cartridge ejaculated onto the canvas of a great emptiness, the thought of which is expressed in the three-dimensional representation of the position I’m braced into while doing the splatting -- all hologram like but only juicier and used -- like an in and out burger wrapper chewed on by a trashcan opossum. Or better, a goat in a pickup heading for a quinceanera debating Schrödinger with the

Free Willy

“…Some say it's just a part of it We've got to fulfill the book.” B. Marley Before I completely run away from the point, the subject of this essay is free will, or, more accurately, the illusion of free will. It will be interesting to see if free will even comes up laterally over the next few hundred words now that I’ve set it up as a specific goal.  The imp of the perverse makes it a sure thing that I won’t – but that surety might also double back and force  me to stay on point. There are no dogs to pick  in this fight and it’s not a fight,  and if I’m right, none of this is anything but documentation for a litigious god that will never see it. Like quantum mechanics, life is about either time or place, never both, and how we choose to pretty up our choices is neither the point, or even a choice – it’s after the fact punctuation we use to justify and make sense of our ontological messiness.  (Science has proven that we decide things with our body before the brain