I have been in Monteverde, Costa Rica, in the cloud forest for about four weeks and two days. I have remarked to people here lately that it is definitely the case that I feel healthier here than back in Austin, Texas. Never think of even an aspirin. I move around easier, feel a spark unknown before. Creativity is at a higher level.  Finishing my play came so fast and easy and certain.  When it was done it was obvious to me. More clarity, I would say. Just generally more aware. At first I found it kinda spooky.  But now it is just what it is. So, somebody asked me  "You do know you are in a Blue Zone here, don't you?"  What's that, I replied. Well, they showed me there are five Blue Zones on the planet and Costa Rica is one.  These are places where people live longer.  People in Blue Zones reach age 100 at ten times the average rate. Why?  In Costa Rica studies indicate it is happiness here that makes the difference. I believe it. Can you even imagine what I am like when i am happier than I am  in Austin? You know me.  Can you imagine that? 

Google Blue Zones. 

However, do not move here and bring unhappiness with you. Listen I have this notion that if we visit and feel better and go from here anywhere and we intend to make the places we go happier places we will have tuned into the vibe that has made this place a happier place to live. Coming back once in awhile should also help. We will know when it is finally okay to move here. Don't wanna bring them blues to the Blue Zone. Music? That's altogether a different matter 'cause when anybody sings the blues they cannot help getting happy. Down here you can just decide to stay that way. Still, you can sing the blues, just don't talk them up too much. What am I talking about? I don't know. Come on down!

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.

So, I saw an ad on the internet appealing to a wish someone knows to have been planted in me to be more than I am. It said, Be more than you are! Well, it also said, If you have a clear picture of where you want to be, you will make much better decisions. I stopped reading right there. So many teachers out there are constantly appealing to us to set ourselves some vision of what we want to become and we will become it. Many have tried and the world stays the same. No. It grows more lonely.

Why? Simple. Once you are lost, the only road back home is just that. Otherwise, there can be no chance someone will discover the truth concerning….what is it you really do HAVE? The way home is to empty yourself of the burdens you carry that are not your own. It is surprising what is left to you after you do that.

Not only are goals pointing away from your deepest dream, they are shrinking it. What you are looking for you have already. Call off the search. Doors of opportunity will swing open where you will swear they could not have been.


Whenever anyone dressed as a teacher suggests he or she can help you become somebody you can be proud to be, reply simply, "Fuck off!"


There is a real hard worker who is not trying to remake nature to its liking.  I hope you meet that.

NOTICEABLY POSTED :

Let me tell of a king who reigned in anonymity upon the Earth for 1000 years-

and let me also tell that throughout the kingdom where this king ruled there was perpetual peace;

and all the anonymous king's subjects lived in plenty; and they had a ball; while none of those who believed in the kings who have names even noticed it happened. It happened right under your noses; and I am sorry if you missed it. And that is why I tell of it!

Crime was forgiven, disease got well, and hunger was fed. And, thus, there were no big deals in the anonymous king's sovereign realm where even the old were as young in spirit as Santa Claus; and even death came alive in the face of so much unconditional love.

All the subjects of that realm were free, happy people doing whatever was pleasing for them to do and nobody was ever excluded from a perpetual celebration of life. (not even you) It happened right under your noses; and I am sorry if you missed it. And that is why I tell of it!

The anonymous king wore no crown; and so, that is why you were blind to his presence. That, and your fear of anonymity. Fear can make a person go blind, as you know. Remember the tale of the naked emperor? Children see him. Back then, anonymity was the place to be, all right.

1)wonder if he'll come back again;

2)watch closely for the nameless friend.

He will be one who flatly refuses to tell you what to do and will not do what you want him to; because you want him to do it...ever.

“He's a special case!”, according to his followers. “An ungraspable phantom”, some who saw him for who he is were moved to say.

“Ornery, is what he is”, others, the blind ones, would label the anonymous one. “A buffoon!”, more of the sightless ones have been heard to name him. Some scholars, who read of him, called him, “a blathering monkey”. Yet, to this day that monkey remains anonymous and free.

The people who knew him said the best way to find him when you need him is to follow a butterfly; follow a butterfly who seems to be going somewhere, so exciting to go it cannot be spoken of;

see it flitting about, telling every pretty flower it meets, “Look out!”

It happens, when it happens, right under your noses; and I would be sorry were you to miss it again. Nobody, not even the butterflies, who delight in it, know the hour of its coming. Look out!

Composed February, 2013, Planet Earth by an anonymous composer who does not know why. Such have been known to introduce people to the anonymous king without an appointment since the anonymity has no scheduled appointments and does as it pleases.

To inquire write:

jwhooperswan@gmail.com

Note: This has nothing to do with Jesus Christ and those awaiting Him are to ignore this altogether; so there is no misunderstanding, the king referred to here is entirely anonymous and was definitely not born of a virgin. He is in fact not even a he and is both his own mother and father. And is his own child.

And this has nothing to do with the Holy Trinity Doctrine. I mean this is about what is truly anonymous. In the very broadest sense of that term. Not Yahweh, not God, not Allah, and not even sure. And, like was said, ornery. This just has nothing to do with anything, really. These words were merely typed up in an organized fashion to be read and understood as true. Mere words and rhythm in a frequency known unto the heart.

The power in the knowledge of what is truly 

present is astounding in its reach. The mango is 

present but ownership of it is illusory. And yet a 

man has been known to slay another for the 

perceived right to the fruit of a particular mango 

tree. What ignorance! That level of stupidity is 

difficult to comprehend even. It is but a small 

step from there to the waging of a war at the 

cost of thousands of lives to establish a claim to 

a forest. 

The forest may be ours by the terms of surrender 

but at what cost? Nobody can measure it. It goes 

on forever. I don't know about you but I'm tired of 

this shit.

Whats happening to me

Wager not my voice at the marketplace o' marriage

and a Fortune company

support o' some plotted disinfected family tree's

just not in the cards for me.

let me sing my own tune

but in the choir of a life-

a life that's honest 'n free; and

let me be still

let me be still


til I can give voice to what's happening to me

Lay odds on the gamble that is a certainty; something that 

comes forth in a squawk or a sigh;

a long shot from heav'n with syrup 'n greens and a slice 

o' grandma's rhubarb pie.

Say I'm a wild card- say I'm no damn good- don't even 

mention me in yore Last Will;

and, when you see I've stopped m' coughing' 

carry my coffin up Boot Hill.

For now, just sit still...let me unlock my notched grooved raw 

boned love sick key.

And sing a loud cry to the blue, blue, blue sky for the need of 

a boy to be free.

For K

What Happened To Us?

Into every boy's (girl's) life the first pals come. Easy as pie are those days and nights when together they play. Unnoticed altogether is the drummer who beats out the rhythm of their lives together as one child. So long as we listen it goes and we know not what we have. The day will come when the uncomplicated simplicity of childhood will shatter and split into individual dreams as if the drummer abandoned them, but that is not the case. That being so, one can never buy back for any price what he had. He has it still.

Whatever happened to Winky, my buddy? It's been about...what? 20 
years! For me, perhaps others as well, the loss will be too much for us 
to bear even though we remain completely ignorant. What happened?  
What did we lose? 


Theories rise like hot cakes. A whole entire career system is built 
around a loss we did not lose and what to do about that. We turn to 
anything we find which blocks the pain. We begin to gossip and talk 
nonsense about other people and their habits, traits, odd mannerisms.  
Arrange, then constantly rearrange the camps of who we like and who 
we do not, and who we like most and least. Altogether classify, judge, 
and arrange a world in our heads that does not otherwise exist. In this 
world good people and bad people dwell. People who do right and 
people who do wrong are placed there. There live friends and enemies. It (our world) splits and divides and shatters until it is very complex. 



Now, there are priests, lawgivers, therapists, teachers, counselors, 
artists, entertainers, politicians, the police and judges and juries, 
firefighters, soldiers, guards, rebels, arsonists, terrorists, nutritionists, 
yoga teachers, real estate agents, accountants, entrepreneurs, and all 
the rest. Books galore are written! Always and throughout, there 
remains a ghost world, a reality, that becomes more strange to us as 
we work out the terms of our world, the one we created, and it 
becomes even threatening; so, we discover ways to shut it off. We 
label the ghost world to be fantasy, illusion, to be a pack of 
dangerous dream worlds, nonsense, evil, darkness, all to be avoided 
as populated by evil spirits, witches, fairies, wizards, outlaws, beasts, 
and such. It is in fact the real one. And it is what we lost when we 
gave it up for a handful of shiny, worthless beads.