Memo: To Me Only

2012

Today, I received a contract to sign written long ago by Kahlil Gibran. It is a beautiful treatment on the subject of “work” from the heart, for love’s sake, and I like it so much it has started me thinking. Recently, I watched a

documentary which focused on the rehearsal of a play by Brecht entitled “Mother Courage” and starring Meryl Streep, which was to be performed in Central Park at some date in 2006. It gives me insight to the theater and possibilities for my Billy the Kid musical play. And, “Mother Courage” was a musical as well and the songs therein were especially written for Meryl’s voice. I found that most intriguing since “Billy” is in need of a new muse of song.

Brecht's play is about the horrors and inevitability of war. Meryl told us that she wanted to do the play because she understands that whatever our protestations over war may be, “we all live off the war!” She repeated the line several times for effect, or I heard them repeat in my head anyway. How profound! “We all live off the war”.

Then, a friend wrote to me about a songfest we staged at her house many years ago where we recorded a bunch of songs I had written over the years. It fueled thoughts about work and life and love. I fell asleep this afternoon and awoke refreshed from a nap and the first thought I had was that I live off a meager Social Security check for the most part. I do it because it is easy. So, I thought, I live off the war. Then I thought, “Do I want to continue to do that?” Then I inquired of myself, “Is there a way off the government tit?” From time to time over the last few years I have thought I would like to just ignore the existence of that check and let the money pile up in the bank as long as I live and decide later if I want to do something with it…something outrageous!

I remembered Peace Pilgrim’s story and how much it inspires me. She walked until she was offered shelter and fasted until she was offered food…for 28 years!

I have a play and some clay and a new laptop computer with the latest goodies for manipulating music and art and a heart full of joy to give away. I want to give it...but how?

I see myself simply letting go of the monthly check and rolling away over gravel from this place where I am typing now after starting up Silver Bill, my ride.

I want to point out that soon after someone invited (challenged) me to come to Oregon to co-write a book, someone made my car water proof out of love and someone else gave me the new computer out of love and many folks cooperated to make my move a good experience, out of love. I have about 400 small books printed that I have written over the years that I could sell by the roadside. Or give away. Which? Okay. Just now I took a short break from this writing and what did I see on my walk but a bowl on a chair by the roadside filled with rice krispie bars and chocolate bars with a sign that read: “Take One and Have a Great Day!” I took one, took a bite, and it tasted mighty good.

That brings me to the crux of the matter, doesn’t it ?

If I am just like the rest, what good am I? A friend sang that. Bob Dylan’s his fake name. His real name is a frequency. It is my question now.

If we all live off the war, who is going to change? If nobody changes, what good are we?

I know a little bit about being outside the system and maybe I can take it further and get as far as I can, at least. I see it as being willing to refuse all contracts, except a contract of love, which is unlike any other contract because it has no purpose outside itself and it is unenforceable by man and nonexistent to mind. It is like I walk until someone asks If I want to sleep at their place; and, if I do, I agree; and, if they ask of me anything in return, anything at all, I walk.

If somebody says everybody must give something back for something they get, I ask, “How come?” If someone wants to bargain about what they give up, I walk away. Unless somebody sees the intrinsic value of having me around, I walk; walking away from the source of all wars, as I see it. And that is the way off the government tit.

Nature’s ample breast is my way.

Tell me if I am on the right track in my reading of the Old Testament as basically a story of some people who claimed they were the chosen people of Some Big Kahuna they called Lord or Father or Jehovah or some other names who told them, “Hey, if you want a place to rest and raise sheep go over to your neighbor’s land and bring weapons and I’ll deliver their heads to you and you can have their land because I like you better than them.” The same guys killed Jesus when he showed up. Some claimed Jesus was the only son of the Father, not Jesus though. Which brings me to point out that everybody knows what Jesus would have us do. No matter whether you believe the story or do not believe it, if you are familiar with it, you know what the character called Jesus would favor. It's unconditional love. No discussion is required. By Jehovah!

Only just now, do I realize the true meaning of the New Testament story: they killed Jesus! That’s it! When scripture says He died for your sins it means that He died because you are so filled with hate and fear that you murder kindness. You live off the war! That's what killed him!

Nobody believed in Him. Nobody! Not one of the chosen twelve stood by Him. He can be said to have died of loneliness and a broken heart. It is a litmus test for awareness. We failed. All of us. We are all in Hell. And, if He’s returning for another try; will I be ready? That’s my only concern now.

Okay. I am learning as I write this down. I am not sure yet. Thank you for being there to read it. There is a story told in India about a boy who was challenged by his brother to take a trip to a distant city on a train with no money and no return ticket and arrive back at home in seven days, having missed not one meal and having slept indoors each night on a comfortable bed in nice quarters, all without begging or stealing. The boy had told his brother that he was going to give his life to God and his brother, older, wanted to teach him a lesson. “You have to first learn a trade and make money and get a wife and buy a house and properties for your old age and then you can consider spending time as a spiritual person”, he told his younger brother. The older brother went so far in his zeal that he promised the younger boy that if he succeeded in winning the bet he (the older brother)

would bow before the younger boy and become his first disciple.

Well, guess what? The boy met some wealthy people on the train the first hour of his trip who were going to the same city as he for a great family feast. They invited the boy to go home with them and stay at the family estate and enjoy a week of festivities with them as their guest of honor. The last day of his trip, a man he met at the festivities knocked at the boy’s door and handed him a train ticket home, saying: “I felt in my heart you might need this.” And so, the boy returned home where he was greeted by his first disciple falling on his knees before him. It is the story of a young Yogi, Paramahansa Yogananda.

I want to know how far I can go to know whether the better way to live is to trust the maker every moment in every thing. I am not sure yet. Anything else requires war after war after war and all the human suffering that greed carries with it. But more importantly, vastly more as a matter of fact, the way of trust is beautiful and rich and fulfilling and thrilling and awesome. The way of the world is dull and dumb. War is mostly, dull and dumb. It is boring and dead.

Let me illustrate my point with a question dear to the heart of a mother. Children get born to women as a result of close contact with men. Men want that contact but do not get pregnant and give birth. So, what is to be done about the children? That is my question.

We have tried to make these arrangements work by force of law and by societal pressures (religious and otherwise) and yet seem no better off. I suggest we try the Lord of Anonymity. By that I mean a walk into the void called UNKNOWN TERRITORY. Just to make love as we please and make the babies we make and then see who shows up to take care of them and find out, the only way it can be found out, whether our maker is a dumbass who does not know its business; or whether we have been the smartass dumbasses all along by failing to trust ourselves, as I firmly suspect is the case. Can manandwoman walk together freely, aimlessly, spreading visible love and thereby be given, day by day, a royal life beyond a king’s imagination, coming to enjoy a naturally occurring bliss? That is the question. I am not sure yet. 

I just read this again in 2013, more than a year later, after my return from Portland, and I feel the same way, only more so. It has taken me so long, Lord, I hope it has not been too long!

I just read this again in 2016, more than four years later, after my return from Portland, and I feel the same way, only more so. This week, I sent my Billy the Kid musical play finished to Portland to someone I know who asked to put it on the stage.  She had sent to me the contract I mentioned in 2012.  I signed it. It has taken me so long, Lord, I hope it has not been too long! 

I do not pray to my Lord, my Lord prays to me that I might listen. I promise to listen.