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The Heart as a Flower

By on Dec 14, 2015 in callings, Flow

I’m at the ocean a lot, so it’s true, I have many, many pictures of the ocean. Maybe it’s because I lived so far from it for so many years that I never tire of it and could keep posting pictures of it and I don’t know about all of you, but I would never be bored. When I lived in Santa Fe winter would come too soon and it was already a quiet life but it would get tortuously quiet. During the day I would hike on my favorite trail that wound its way through the woods and along the stream that was iced over. It got dark so early and it was so cold. In the last place I lived I would spend maybe $350 a month on heat but it never got warm. I would get in bed just after sundown because I ached so much with the cold. And the quiet I’m talking about is the quiet of having everything slow down so much to the point where there literally is little distraction and all...

Quinella

By on Dec 11, 2015 in Poems, poetry

Quinella   Thursday. On a whim my lover, D, and I, go to the horse races. We bet on some horses, mostly mid range long shots. We win, we lose. We are at Hollywood Park in Inglewood, and it’s pretty run down, pretty grungy, but there is something about its rundown, offbeat air that I, in a weird way, love. Like the green bathrooms with their eerie lights and vintage smell. The old men are studying the favorites in the newspaper, yelling when theirs comes in on the rows of TV screens above our heads. In between races I walk way, way out to the car, where the parking is free, to get the book I’d brought to read. On my way out a black man comments on my legs, says he can tell I haven’t been hanging out in prison, cause my legs don’t have marks on them, they are pretty, he says. I smile, just a little, to keep it friendly. I keep walking. I hope I don’t have to see him on my way back....

December

By on Dec 11, 2015 in Uncategorized

Yesterday I made tea from two Yogi tea bags and at the ends of the bags, tethered by a string, were these words: Love has no fear and no vengeance Let things come to you They both really struck me as ideas I’ve come to believe and/or have been working on recently. Or rather, both ideas I think have been accumulating in me over the past few years and seem to be forming as truths, culminating very recently in the poignant unwrapping of these two tea bags on a rare overcast day in Southern California. I think these yogi tea bag words will need to make their way into some new collages. I also walked by the ocean. The tide was very high and waves were neither tender nor ferocious but definitely more ferocious than tender. (The picture at the top of this post was from a different day two weeks ago when I was originally intending to write something here.) I thought: If I was in there...

Art Show in a Dojo

By on Nov 2, 2015 in art, los angeles

Our 4th Art Show in a Dojo. I’ll have my art & gifts there at the super discounted friends and family rate. Hope to see you there.

Summer

By on Jul 28, 2015 in los angeles

It’s summer in Los Angeles and lately you can really feel it. It’s hot and very sunny. People are flocking to the beaches in droves. Various factors have me spending time by the beach and so I am absorbing the beach culture without fully feeling myself to be a part of it. I love the ocean but not so much the sun worship and the beachwear, so I find myself to be somewhat detached and amused and sometimes wishing I was in NYC wearing a black coat and popping into a museum somewhere. I was watching Penny Dreadful recently, a Showtime mini series set in Victorian London that is I guess billed as erotic gothic horror. It is both beautiful and terrifying. The horror part is, like my response to the essence of beach culture, also something I don’t usually go for but I really loved what they were doing with the acting and the cinematography and the clothing, etc. Anyway, have...

Almost Got Me

By on Apr 25, 2015 in los angeles

What I’ve been thinking about lately is how I have this towel, that I bought a few years ago in Santa Fe, that cost $60. For the life of me I can’t remember or understand why it was $60, or what possessed me to buy a towel that cost this much. It’s a nice towel, but it’s not THAT nice. It’s dark brown, a decent size, and it is made up of these little loops of thread (thread that is spun from very rare sphinx moths bred specifically to make dark brown luxury towel thread, only on the third new moon of every year?) that catch on things and gets stretched out. Every time this happens I curse the towel gods and I think about how I want a refund. It’s an issue of worth, right? Of value. And perception of value. And how much money you have to burn on things like overpriced towels. So you can feel pumped up about yourself, secretly, as you emerge from the shower, a new person, and the towel,...

Miracles

By on Apr 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

“What if all the myths and fairy tales were pointing to something that was not only true but also truer than anything we knew in this world, to a realm that was truer and more real? What if this world of materiality and corporeality were only the ‘shadowlands’ and what if we were meant for another place that was more real and more true? What if our hearts’ longing for that other place was what led mankind over the years to make a place in our world for myths and religions and fairy tales – and what if the God who had created us and loved us had found a way to break through into our world and to offer us a hand, to say, If you take my hand I can take you back to where you once lived and to where you really belong, because your heart knows that you do? Would you take his hand and let him take you there? Would you believe the miracle of his breaking through...

A Moral Act

By on Apr 4, 2015 in Authenticity

Therefore, a moral act is not an act in obedience to an external law, human or divine. It is the inner law of our true being, of our essential or created nature, which demands that we actualize what follows from it. And an antimoral act is not the transgression of one or several precisely circumscribed commands, but an act that contradicts the self-realization of the person as a person and drives toward disintegration. It disrupts the centeredness of the person by giving predominance to partial trends, passions, desires, fears, and anxieties. The central control is weakened, often almost removed. And when this happens, and other partial trends also aspire to predominance, the self is split, and the conflicting trends make it their battlefield. The ‘will,’ in the sense of a self that acts from the centered totality of its being, is enslaved. Freedom is replaced by compulsion. Deliberation and decision, the hallmarks of freedom, become mere facades for overwhelming drives that predetermine the decision. The voice of man’s essential being is silenced, step by step; and his disintegrating self, his depersonalization, shows the nature of the antimoral act and, by contrast, the nature of the moral act.

Paul Tillich, Morality and Beyond

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