Simplicity

"The world has many questions, some are answered – some are not,

The only faith you’re keepin’ is the faith you still have got”*

You purposed your smile to another cause.

You dealt many times with the demons,

You allowed to cross your path.

But they did not win your favor or love

For any meaningful time.

And you mesmerized yourself out of

The fog of landlocked atmosphere,

And placed your footstep in the light.

With all your other thoughts and dreams.

Neil Young said that.

Simplicity

“The world has many questions, some are answered – some are not,

The only faith you’re keepin’ is the faith you still have got”*

You purposed your smile to another cause.

You dealt many times with the demons

You allowed to cross your path.

But they did not win your favor or love

For any meaningful time.

And you mesmerized yourself out of

The fog of landlocked atmosphere,

And placed your footstep in the light.

With all your other thoughts and dreams.

Neil Young said that.

Some Haikus

Looking

The world awaits, the

Arrival of sincerity.

Counting hours to go.

1 and 2

Olympian greed, lust,

The cause of the dilemma.

We pay - simple need.

Pink

In her diary,

She now writes with perfumed,

Clarity, and pen.

Shine

Solemn dawn denies,

The crown of the jeweled day,

Toward which she rides.

Afternoon

A moment in time,

Caresses her falling dress

Shifting on her arm.

AM

Now, dawn approaches -

Comfort me with your kisses,

Abrade me with love.

Against the Odds

“You were the only one who really knew me at all…”*

You said: “You don’t have to feel like you have to talk
All the time, to fill in the space, you can sit and take it all in…”

My father said this to me as we drove in the countryside,
To a place he had to check out for insurance coverage;

I relaxed. I felt a sense of relief and admiration,
For someone who knew me so well as a personality,
An individual, a soul mate with whom I was traveling.
His large hands holding the steering wheel,
His large heart spreading over me,
Like a blanket over a small child.
I felt lucky to have him,
On this trip through life.

*Phil Collins said that

Some of the Rest of the Story

There was no validated parking,

In the life she inadvertently chose,

Based on beauty, song, and adventure.

The lot was predetermined and full -

Of  billeted hucksters and mongers,

Of questionable fame and dilemma.

She led her beautiful life happily,

Despite the bane of misunderstood,

Intelligence and perceptions.

And life was finessed in the wake,

Of trembling storms,

And twinkling, navy-star skies.

Consumption

The giant funnel of the earth,

Is filled with immense beauty.

It loses a little of its contents

On a daily basis.

The beauty does not escape.

It does not remake itself,

Something falls out the bottom

Of the funnel…

Changed into unrecognizable

Compounds and forms.

These new elements and objects,

Propagate unusual, new biology,

And challenges us,

To live in the wake.

Of our strange, improvised world.

Gathering

Shall We Gather At The River?

We gathered at the river,

For walking to the islands,

Or building a pontoon,

Or a campfire,

For solace and solitude,

To fish and swim,

To explore quietly.

To stand back from the flood,

And watch warily to see if,

We had to leave the house,

In a boat.

To look at natures bounty

Of signs,

And animal’s wanderings,

Watch the turtles sunning,

To drag our boat up the river,

Three of four miles,

Over rapids, and shallows,

Just to float back down -

Laying on the bottom,

In the sun.

The Lewis Family said that

Miles Love

You drove the bug.

I sang Darcy Farrow

All the way from

North Lake Tahoe to

Pine Ridge Reservation.

I read you most of,

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

After a twelve hour drive,

As we pulled into the motel space,

At Freedom’s Run.

The car stopped dead. 

The next day we fixed the VW,

With a screwdriver, to our surprise -

Touching two parts together.

As souls on a journey -

We kept on going.

Fennel

“Eat Your Greens”

My favorite vegetable; looking a little like celery

But so much more than its poor cousin,

Eccentric, perhaps – but,

Braised, sautéd or raw, it improves the flavor

Of any soup or roast - pushing the flavor

(Converted sweetly, from earth and water)

Upward.

Through the roots and great, layered bulb -

Reaching out its green, juicy arms to the sky.

Frank Zappa said that.

BestFruit

The juice dripped down our bodies,
And over our bathing suits,
While we read the poems,
Of Pablo Neruda.

And Pineapple.

Tradition

Whenever I hear the word tradition.
I listen carefully,
To see if the bulb has gone out,
To see if what is being discussed,
Is worth remembering
Or needs to be rewired for today.

Whenever

Always a surprise in white -

Whenever I ran breathless,

Down the long, long driveway,

To the big, silver mailbox -

The crisp envelopes snapped

With colorful ink and stamps

I looked inside to see -

What was not forgotten.

Past Life Reading

I told the story as if I had just lived it.

The reader is used only for general prompting.

I was in a village town with cobblestone streets,

In a house hiding beneath my mothers dress,

Under the wooden floor, in a small cellar,

With two other children hiding from an invasion,

By horseback.

There was a lot of noise

And the cellar door flew open –

Everyone was killed with spears but me,

I lived, because I could not be seen.

Hours later after all the noise had stopped,

I got up and went to the open door and

Looked out. No one was around.

I started walking down the road

Out of the town.

It was sunny and bright.

I was coming down a hill

And saw a stream off on the left,

I walked over to get a drink of water.

I was bent over drinking and

I heard noise and looked up

Just then a man on a horse,

Plunged a spear into my chest.

And then I was floating overhead

Higher and higher,

Seeing my small body by the stream.

Suspicion

My mother said: “You can’t go to the fair because there are undesirable people there”.

Little did she know just how many undesirable people a precocious, small, curly-white haired, pretty, little girl could encounter before the age of seven. Or, perhaps she did.

I have never been suspicious,

Because I have always been cautious:

Caution;

But I call it intelligence.

And I avoid situations in which

Intelligence doesn’t seem to count.

I avoid a lot of frustration that way.

No one sees me as suspicious.

I am seen as nice, obscure, intelligent,

In an over there – what is she writing

About -  kind of way,

I am both.

­Poetic Aside on Suspicion:

As a poetic aside - in general;

Regarding citizens of America:

Many now see suspicion as being wholly justified,

And something we need to keep perpetually

In our repertoire of democratic defenses.

(Just to keep one step ahead of the politicians obliterating

The foundations of the social contract).

Not just suspicion but outright rage seems justified -

From ignoring the last thirty years of corporations, politicians,

Siphoning off percentages of every previously hard-earned,

Ethical choice and  benefit that was mistakenly,

Then – that’s right America -

Taken for granted – (working too hard, if you are busy you won’t notice).

So see, you can’t do that.

Caution is a constant searchlight, like the eyes of Ralph Nader,

Roving over the ocean of corruption, greed and bad habits of human beings.

So stalwart is the word; don’t turn off the searchlight,

-And remember the lighthouse.

Too Late

Some people tell you it is too late

For something.

Well, just don’t listen.

It’s never too late.

It might not have been

For you.

If some arbitrary deadline has passed

Just try something new,

Forget what has passed,

You will probably come up

With something better for yourself.

Too Late 2

Once I woke up my brother

And told him -

I would see him on Sunday.

But he never came home.

And it was too late,

Because he was forced to

Leave the earth,.

And couldn’t say goodbye.

Reveal

 

When a painting grows

Out of the surface by

Layers of paint and thought,

It reveals more than

Its physicality and

Stands between the

Artist and the viewer,

As a statement of belief

In the fact of beauty.

Exchange/Alchemy

She held in her hand -

A golden emblem of desire.

Her warm fingers encased this

Form in its own glowing softness,

And the essence that came

From different elements combined -

Sank deeply into her skin.

And this exchange

Made her heart fluid

And transparent

Like water.

Reveal

When a painting grows

Out of the surface by

Layers of paint and thought,

It reveals more than

Its physicality and

Stands between the

Artist and the viewer,

As a statement of belief

In the fact of beauty.

Velocities

This velocity could be criminal.

How the notion condenses from

Almostanidea to full blown action.

How it bursts through - 

All objections and mental tie-downs.

And continues to sneak through in

A moledular, biological manner,

To its goal of complete control.

Love Poems

Love Poem

I was going to write you a love poem,

But I thought better of it,

And spent the time writing about -

The difference between dawn and day.

I was considering writing you a love poem,

But I wanted to paint a new color,

That was not blue or green,

But had the inference of violet.

I was going to write you a love poem,

But my friend, Maria, came by for a coffee

And we left before I had time to develop,

Any sense of what that feeling might entail. 

Love Poem 2

Because I am who I am -

I have loved you from a distance

As much as if we were together

Today.

Like fish in a great water,

Traveling together and through

The blue, stary cosmos of time,

I see who you are and know,

You are physically, far away -

But for me, you are here.

In memoryless spirit and heart

Having affected me,

Forever.

Dangerous

She knew it was forbidden.

She knew it drew her inexorable forward -

She tried several ways to stop herself.

She wanted to stop.

She needed to stop.

But she couldn’t help herself –

Her steps moved forward.

Now, at this moment -

What she thought was the last fence,

Between her and complete seduction,

Was leaning to the right, then to the left,

In the wind of this dramatic hurricane,

That was her desire. 

Kind

There is no need to be unkind.

It spells out the unkind persons

Proclivity for narcissism

But we are unkind.

So reel it in and get a mirror,

To view your mistaken self -

And make a change.

And be happier.

Excess

Defines our times.

There is no need to list

The myriads of inclinations

That move to addiction

In our culture.

It is a large, ugly meteor

Sitting tenuously on a mountain

Ready to roll over all of us.

Friend

I wander from room to room

And field to pond.

When the wind whips up,

I park myself near the house.

Fragrances hit me like a train,

And overwhelm my senses,

Driving me towards desperation.

When you talk to me, I listen.

I kindly acknowledge your desires.

You brush my back.

And there are things I like about you.

But instinct rules my nature,

And if the pack came today,

With little reluctance…I would go.

Water or Water

There is little choice,

In the case of water.

It runs downhill,

And hides underground,

In rivers and wells,

Where we seek it,

For life.

We count its parts,

And wonder why -

There is too much copper

Or lead -

But in the end,

For us,

It is water or water.

Tenuous

His references were historical philosophy,

So he was at a deficit to begin with.

He looked at me regarding death,

I told him -

That was something with which

He did have to be concerned.

He looked at me wonderingly -

As if I had appeared suddenly,

From another country.

When The Light Came

When I found my murdered, beautiful brother,

On the steel cart in the Los Angeles morgue,

I saw the ball of light,

That came to me from him,

And entered my chest,

And all the anxiety I felt,

Disintegrated like magic -

In a fairy tale of an ironic dream. 

Entropy

S=KlogW=Entropy

We proceed from order to disorder,

Daily.

The paper unravels before our eyes,

The kitchen makes its transition,

The plants on the balcony,

Grow beyond their containers,

And reach for forever -

Before they are trimmed,

And asked to maintain decorum,

In our search for control.

The Female Predator: (Opportunist/Predator Score) or Waitin' for the Cain - insert harmonica whine here

La La La Looking for the innocent, La!

La La La, The needy, desperate, and others

La Laaaaaa!

(enter the main character, standing up, looking a little

puffy (winded)

Countdown 1 and 2 and 3 and…….

Didn’t do it, didn’t do it, I didn’t do it

Didn’t do it, didn’t do it, I didn’t do it

(5 more times -  at least)

(main character introspects with paranoia

guile, and terror, crouched over in fetal

position     – but, admittedly, in a nice suit)

I am bare!!!!!

They (?) are after me, Circle the wagons!

Bring in the laundry! Burn the pictures!

No!!!!  I am innocent, I am put upon!

It is I who must suffer the arrows of

Other’s despair – what price must I pay!!!!

Am I not already discriminated against?

O! Clinton, Kennedy, and Thomas –

(and the tribe of abusive elders)

Protect me now!!

Is not my desire as great as yours??

Am I not your brother?!!?

Didn’t do it, didn’t do it, I didn’t do it

Didn’t do it, didn’t do it, I didn’t do it

(repeat interminably or at least 4 times)

Much later…………

(standing, looking sideways adjusting his lapel…)

Ok, I did it.

--------

Drum roll (buh dum dum) 

Is There Any Question

The whole society is addicted.

To calmness, prescription and illicit drugs,

Coffee, tea, fashion, themselves,

Another person, a group, a schedule,

Money, the nomenclature

Of hierarchy, slotting people

Into boxes, observation, murder,

Evangelism, servitude, misanthropy,

Authority, personal revolution,

Dust, litigiousness, vampires,

Sexual preference, dietary

Requirements, Bohemia,denial,

Self-importance, disease, counting,

Topical applications of antibiotic creams,

and Platonic theory.

Just a few that come to mind.

Time

“Time waits for no one and it won’t wait for me”*

The light changes in our waking dream,

But not the number of hours in the day,

Or days in a week, or weeks in a month,

Every day holds precious moments,

Of work, consciousness, opportunity,

The continuum holds us in its fabric,

And we do not know where we will go,

When we step across the space,

Filled with stars and focusing lights,

But we move onward,  toward the reality,

Of new possibilities.

Rolling Stones said that*

Finding Something Unexpected

Sometimes when you are painter

You paint for a while and have to leave

For the drying time or an errand

Later, you come back and see something

You do not recognize.

This is a wonderful moment:

You see part of who you are -

You can change it or keep it.

I'm Sort of Pissed

I’m sort of pissed.

It is hard enough for artists

To receive any understanding

In a capitalistic society

Where praised names like

The Redskins and the Yankees

Are more popular than it’s

Cultural institutions like, say;

The Metropolitan Museum of Art or

The Women’s Museum.

But when all our money

Goes to the rich it becomes

Impossible to even see any

Future for our children who

Would be the future artists.

I’m just saying.

I’m sort of pissed.

Procrastination

I guess the reason I put off cleaning the house is because I really do not enjoy it and I have so many other things to do. In addition, it does not look much better after some effort on my part. I am an artist and there in lies the rub. Paper, storage containers, paint, drawing paraphernalia. Printmaking inks, blocks, screens, squeegees and special papers for printing are stacked up on open shelves. Vertical areas of stretched paintings, blank canvases, and portfolios lean against the wall between the stereo and the bookshelves. In addition, I have taken on restructured clothing. Stacks of clothing to be redesigned are in storage containers under the dining table and other locations. Many are cut apart and neatly stored for their later use. In addition to this, I have started a line of leather bracelets; cuffs, that are particularly appealing and have their designs based on California endangered wildflowers. I have a box full of completed ones that I am marketing and am starting a smaller version of the cuff so I am cutting out leather as well. I guess that is why I keep put off cleaning the house but as people say, it doesn’t clean itself.  

Social Contract

“All Art Comes From a Sense of Outrage”

A thief has abducted America

And she has been taken apart and is locked

In the now - abandoned houses of Main Street.

Like on CSI, or America’s Most Wanted.

She is bruised and battered, close to death.

Some suspects are viciously obvious,

Others more hidden and even more innocuous.

The Bill of Rights has been reversed,

So the corporation has become the public,

And the public of America has been disappeared,

In basic rights, benefits, and in humane affairs,

While representatives stand with hands in pockets,

And I-phones to their ears to hear the latest instructions,

From the lobbyists, and the new Rockefellers and Vanderbilt’s.

Liberty's true representation stands in the harbor,

Arm held high to welcome the broken nations,

Her arms now held high in a hold up -

In the senate, by pharmaceuticals, by the greed

Of those who can’t get enough at others expense,

While time is running out on America.

Glenn Close, actress

Warning:

(a far cry from Whitman’s/Emily’s America)

This is it:

The last, undeserved, benevolent call for the imminent-domained,

The self-appointed, heads of some-kinda state-countries,

Now, creeping all over the American-side-of-North America,

Politicians;

As little, red-blood suckin’ terminally-money-grabbin’ thieves-with-intent,

Maliciously, sittin’ flat out corrupted, in the body-bag congress/senate/corporations

Pullin’up your knee-high, China-cashmere, black socks,

And fast-stuffin’inthepeople’smoney.com.

(Without the slightest remembrance of a conscience).

And, nere’ do well pimp-daddy, crony suckin’

“Don’t Shoot” (?) hidin’ in the sewer lashed

To the last dying tidbit-standard of peasant-plucked wealth

Past.  

The hold em’ and kill em’

And,

I’ve-come-back-to-haunt-you -

Baby Papa Doc imitators.

Finished...

That’s it.

Don’t fall asleep again.

Jardiniere d’ Octobre

The fall is an exciting time. Students and teachers return to school and begin the official education process anew. Squirrels and other animals start to gather and hide food more seriously for the coming cold. The intense, blue sky takes on an occasional, autumnal

gray. The wind sets a chill, the trees give up their color and finally – their last few leaves.

For some of those reasons and others; I like change. For me, fall has always been a happy time.

Whether it is the silent and subtle change of a color in a drawing or painting or the choice of a particular word that suggests a perfect measurement of judgment and consideration, those small changes are great and wonderful things. In music, it can be the blending of particular harmonies of voice or instruments or the just perceptible, semi-hidden tones underlying a great solo. Those are choices to be celebrated. Those are changes that capture wonder and admiration.

Fall is another time of celebration, of nature’s procession toward eternity with a great blended wake of histories and remembrances, brought about by a change in the visual,

fragrances, temperatures, light. October is the evidence, the je-ne-sais-quoi of the past season’s expressions.

But; even, thereby and instead of; October is also much more.

When the Mermaid Purrs

In the surf,

Her wet skin was like a warm snake.

She curled up in the sun like a cat.

And flipped her tail leisurely

Slapping silver onto the wet sand.

Sometimes she would sigh,

And stretch out for a big breath -

Then she would roll over and

Catch a wave coming in green to meet her.

2 poems inspired by Pablo Neruda's first lines

Pablo Neruda 1934

From:

Las Furias Y Las Penas/

Furies and Sorrows    (1129),  1945

(En el fondo del pecho estamus juntos,)

In the depths of our hearts we are together.

Truth and powers were our daily tribunal,

And what we wrote as two came to pass

For others who were not as lucky as us.

Barcarole   (107),   1934

(Si solamente metocaras el corazon,)

If only you would touch my heart..

A place that has missed you like blood,

Aching for your very innocence and consciousness,

Passed by here forever like the body

Of the wind that dies in June.

Truth 1 and Truth 2

Two poems with first lines borrowed from another poet…in this case;

Emily Dickinson.

(for Poetic Asides, blog of Robert Brewer on Writers Digest)

_____________________________________________________________

Truth 1

First line by:

Emily Dickinson     (435),  1890….

Much madness is divinest sense…

The heart does not censure truth.

The hand pulls the curtain,

For reasons it knows.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_______________________________________________________________

Truth 2

First line by:

Emily Dickinson     (1129),  1945

Tell the truth but tell it slant –

With humor,

Or a grain of salt,

Or by finishing the story -

The next day,

Or next week for those most closed.

On Poetry

On Poetry

A poem is an independent thing, existing in and of its self until someone reads it. It may be even the poet, long after the poem has been written. Anything can inspire a poem and it can happen at any time. I am most inspired when driving or when I go to bed – then I get up and return to the computer. If I do not do that, the poem could be lost. When driving I am writing on a notebook by my side. Often, I have to pull over so I will not have an accident. Sometimes, I cannot go to sleep because a poem is looking for a pencil in my head. This usually happens when I have several poems to write down. There is no stopping the drive of the poem, the creative instinct. It is a force beyond the person who claims it. We are just lucky to be the channeling incident in its momentary push to become a reality.

Prose: Birthday

Birthday

It is good to go out with friends and celebrate something. What is celebrated is really not the main consideration. Last night was one of those nights. In attendance were some of my old students, a friend from Milan, an exile from Mexico and others. One student I have known since he was twelve. Now he is thirty two. He is the same creative force he has always been, though a little surprised, harried, and reconciled from life’s wear on his artistic spirit. The sangria with peaches was flowing, though few of us were drinkers. We talked about each other as we usually did with insights into each personality, our foibles, triumphs, and particular talents. We closed the restaurant though we were told they were not waiting for us  -  a kind reminder of our excessive friendship.   

A Fortune

Someone will lay down

Beside you.

Like a prayer is laid

Before God.

Why Not to Kill People

(I used to teach high school so this actually makes sense to talk about due to the students watching programs like Jerry Springer, the news, and living where they live with who they live with or don’t live with.)

Not killing people is good. It shows some restraint and ethical character. Why? Well, I am sure we have all had emotions that might lead anyone to kill that mysterious person you hopefully spared. In general, killing relinquishes only a moment of some kind of happiness or maniacal delusion of happiness.  Sometimes it is just efficient for the moment and doesn’t even cause happiness in the errant heart.

On the deficit side - it causes a lifetime of misery, not only for the murderer who is incarcerated but also for all the associated family and friends and humanity in general. And money spent on housing these murderers instead of showing them the errors of their ways and educating them which should have happened earlier as a priority of our society, – don’t even go there. Our violent, racist, capitalist society made em’ and we should help them get back on the good trolley of society heading down the track to responsibility. Then they can teach the others. Hire the murderers to reeducate.

(Otherwise, they just hang around the corners and smoke and drink for lack of things to do; perhaps die early of lung cancer and cirrhosis of the liver and previous, high carbohydrate prison food - getting off the track a little there but true at any rate, but there is no disposable soul, even in this disposable culture.)

Yes, murder takes away from us all in a holistic, spiritual sense. In general, it is self-indulgent to kill someone.  Why do you get to do that and we don’t? What’s so special about you? You broke the law.

You don’t even have a degree or do have a degree, whatever! -  It is frustrating to those of us who have self control, and makes us want to kill you (ergo: oops - death penalty). But aren’t we special, we made it a law so we could kill you. See – pseudo-intelligence can pay off for a while. But society keeps growing and is realizing in a broader scope that the self-controlling, moneyed, politically elite are just killing too. It entertains the rabble and keeps them from wanting to kill the real culprits – politicians!  But - that’s right, the Wild West is coming to an end and consciousness is winning. This is old news but needs saying again. That’s it.

Lunch Break at the Fortune Cookie Factory

 

The following are fortunes that were not finished due to lunch or snack time. The stuffing machines of the cookie factory do not stop for such dalliances.

1. Cleveland is far away but…
2. Walk the path of serene balance and you will…

3.   In the waking dream, you benefit by…

4.   There have been many wonderful answers, but yours is…

  5.   Put off those things which challenge your…
  6.   Engage with the tiger this week and you will…

7. Draw down the crystal moon with your…
8. Several decisions will cause you to take…
9. For quick life changes, take a vacation to…
10. Heretofore clothed in mystery, the great love of your life is now revealed as…
11. Your incredible, innocuous behavior leads to…
12. The accident you experience will cause…
13. With luck and your new gun purchase, you have finally realized…
14. Your constant and persistent mothers warning of …
15. You make a comment to a friend that causes…
16. You will find the grand happiness of your life in…
17. Go to the fountain and drink deeply of the knowledge of…
18. Your light at the end of the tunnel comes in the form of…
19. Your years of desperation fall away as you…
20. Now, even walking on water is not so hard if you…
21. Oh wonderful child of fortune, put your tenuous faith in…
22. Vast and immeasurable wealth awaits you in the field of…
23. Great mind of promising scholar put aside childish things and write about…
24. Guardians of world liberty, unite around the idea of…
25. Your qualities are many, but your dynamic, sparkling best is….

One we will never know due to the daily demands of the physical body.

Fortune Cookie Poem

The first fortune said:

“You will meet a petulant stranger

who will give you unnecessary information”

The second one said:

“Crime does not pay except for those in

power, then it’s their party”

The third one said:

“Organization is the key to completing

your tasks”

The fourth one said:

“Many will be called, few will follow,

fewer will know what they are doing”

The fifth one said:

“Leadership is knowing the path in your

own heart”

The sixth one said:

“The peace you seek is already available to you”

The seventh one said:

“Stop moving and listen to the beating of your

own heart”

I decided to go with number seven and address

the few, pertinent ones later.

Reflection 9/11

 Continuing on the 911 theme....

In the distance,

Somewhere far away,

A trumpet was heard,

And a Broken Hearted Melody

Played innocently in the wind,

And dust was reformed -

In a place we imagine

But do not know.

By hands we feel,

But can not see.

And Lada Gaga sang

Into the mirror,

On the Edge of Glory,

For everyone else.

Lada Gaga: live doing Speechless

http://www.youtu.be/_7HjURBhMGE
 

911

Continuing with the 911 theme...

911

As

You

Fell,

You were,

Caught a million,

Times with eyes,

And humbled hearts.

AM: 9/11

There has been a lot of thought around 9/11 lately, writers have been asked to post their remembrance of what they were doing that day or whatever it is they associate with that day, here is mine...

AM: 9/11

I was getting ready for public teaching.

An enterprise that takes concentration,

Much effort and time.

I saw a plane hit the tower.

A little stunned,

I left for work.

Later, more crashing.

Colleagues were thoughtful,

Angry, sad and tired.

A few were excited.

We protected the students.

I thought;

After all our aggressions,

Someone finally got through.

Vampire or Buddhist: You Choose

It’s not all almond cakes and champagne being a Vampire.

Immortality?

That’s a point, but at what cost. Vampires may not even like living forever.  Why? Because they are living as the same person, they don’t even get to be someone else. How limiting is that. Some people will agree one life is enough to face all their inequities – perhaps Christians - but then there is the wait for the grandiose rapture day. They say it is equivalent to an instant you spend in “the grave” but really, how do they know.[1]

 

That’s ok though -

At least the Buddhists allow you to come back as a new person without persistent blood cravings. Yes, people must try again and again until they reach Nirvana but they can sleep in a regular bed in the evening. Makes a body feel kind of snuggly just thinking about it.

But it is not so snuggly on the path to Nirvana. Oh, no. There’s desire, suffering, attachment, despair, poverty perhaps and don’t even start with the ego. My intuition tells me there is dirt, and hard-to-wear sandels involved as well. These are the things the Buddhist struggles with daily, as well as your average person-on-the-street . No struggle for you?  – Ok; why are you going to Best Buy, take off your designer jeans and give me your Iphone.

 

Let’s look at the basic drawbacks of being a Vampire.

They have to chase their prey and drink blood for physical sustenance.  (no one knows what they do for their spiritual side)[2].  They pretend to be someone they are not, they can’t check themselves out in a mirror, they have to avoid silver bullets with crosses on them as well as garlic. They sleep or hide in the daytime - if they have not been frugal for however many hundreds of years they have to have a night job. They have a general wariness of sharp, wooden objects. They try and make it back to the coffin by daybreak so… they have to acquire desperately fine running shoes (if for some reason they cannot fly at that moment).

I’m sorry but vampires really disappoint others. They live to see a lot of their friends die (if they haven’t already “helped” them into Vampirism). They have been historically labeled as having OCD as they obsessively count – the reason for millet or rice being put around their graves – too busy to kill, have to count.[3] They must make radical adjustments to dramatically changed time periods, they are asked to fulfill others fantasies of what they should be like (actually that is a basic human psycho-trait as well). They have to put up with in inane, tiresome, absolutely exhausting stereotypes and Hollywood caricatures of vampires. They must always be on the lookout for being “outed” as a vampire which equals anxiety. Since vampires are often employed as night security officers, they must curb their instincts to fly, become a bat or show Herculean strength – that’s frustrating – to have the skills but not be able to use them.

Some good news; recently as noted on television’s True Blood series – a synthetic blood has been developed that seems to keep vampire hunger at bay. However,  studies published by the New England Journal of Medicine shed new light on a long line of complications associated with this FDA approved “medicine-food”. Some side effects were malaise, melancholia, extreme paranoia, and serial killing but the latter presents its own set of decision making challenges. Anyway, there’s nothing like the real thing.

On the not too bright side (in keeping with a theme), their body weight usually leans to the thin side and sometimes they might look stridently pale which can be an advantage if a person is a skinny model. (otherwise, there is the possibility it might blow your cover – it’s a fine line).

Getting back to the Buddhists; they might have to lead a sparse, hermetic life depending on their family. Especially in the United States, itinerant Buddhists will have to get used to people staring longingly at them -  like they know God. Some people are always looking for signs from God, so they might mistake a long robed person for Jesus. So I suggest potential monks just chill and go with the flow. As a member of an institution - monks get to ring bells (thank you Pablo Neruda), pray, meditate, eat some rice and tea. There might not be a lot of variety on the gastronomical front. Life for monks might include lovely, scenic views high in the mountains.

Buddhists have to read the stories valued sages have written to enlighten people since time immemorial. I will have to say on the part of the masters, they did keep stories short and to the point. It seems to be that they bring up situations to challenge your enlightenment quotient.  Some lucky Buddhists may get to know what the sound of one hand clapping is or maybe the answer to the ol’ tree in the woods story. There’s a lot to look forward to. 

 

If you are a regular, run-of-the-mill Buddhist you can just practice having no expectations or ask the monks to take you in – just don’t “expect” a positive answer.  They are usually pretty good about that as long as you are serious.[4] Many groups even take women now so they can’t use that as an excuse. I have not investigated how the patriarchy works in modern ”monkdom” so anyone out there with some insight is welcome to weigh in. 

There are pluses and minuses to any life decision so it is up to you to choose. Best of luck and enjoy your choice. And, don’t forget to take personal responsibility for it… oh; sorry, Buddhist throwback.

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[1] (Probably like when they tell you the shot won’t hurt. ). Well, the big rapture may be like graduation for some of them but for others it is just another failure in the long line of schooling experiences that started with kindergarten – but more bitter and hot. (There is also the particular, Christian, blood drinking ritual but that is another story).

[2] Word’s out historically they have no souls – (sad face here)

[3] Example of Arithmomania: obsessive counting. Note: Used in the television series: Monk. Main character, Adrian Monk, counts poles on a footpath, counts his own phobias.

[4] Reference: Leonard Cohan